


Some Say the Stars Can Speak

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Magic, hermann the space angel, magic and mayhem and angels, newt the wizard scientist, or something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2019-08-02 16:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16308332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Newt is a bit of an eccentric man. Around town they know he works for the university and collects samples, but he's also probably a bit of a witch and that's okay, as long as he keeps to himself.Hermann is fighting an endless war in the stars against giant monsters. He is far from an angel, even though Newt has promptly classified him, when he finally figures out what he is. Mostly. After he's crash landed to earth.While Newt takes care of Hermann in his recovery from a "bad landing," Hermann is figuring out how to get back to the fight and stop the kaiju from destroying this weird wonderful little planet and the man he's met there.





	1. A Ridiculous Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feriowind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feriowind/gifts).



“So I gotta know, right? And you can trust me on this. I’m good with this sort of thing. But, are you a wizard or something?”

The infamous Dr. Geiszler tore a piece off the top of the French loaf he’d just purchased and tucked it between his teeth. His eyebrows leapt up towards a coif that refused to sit flat and proper like anybody assumed it should. He needed a hat to keep it tamed but refused it on merit of fashion.

“What?” the baker asked.

“This is really good bread,” Dr. Geiszler answered, leaning over the counter to show off the bite he’d already taken at the top. “Really. _Really_ good bread. You made it?”

“Of course I did, sir, I—”

“All by yourself?”

“Dr. Geiszler, I’m not sure….”

“Newton,” the man said back.

“What?”

“No, you don’t have to do that. Just call me Newton. Newt, if you like.”

“Sir, I—”

“It’s just really good,” he reiterated, squinting at the poor man who was hoping literally anybody would come into his store and save him. “The bread. Consistently super good. And I’m not saying you didn’t put the effort into your craft, I’m just saying. Are you a wizard?”

“Are _you_?” the baker shot back defensively.

“Sure,” Dr. Geiszler said with a grin, his cheeks full of bread. “You never heard of my work?”

“Sir,” the baker started forcefully, wiping a flour-covered hand down the front of his apron. “We all know you produce work for the university over in Belmont. I can’t say I’ve read—”

The little brass bell chimed above the door as one of the locals stepped inside. Dr. Geiszler stood straight, pulling his loaves up tight to his chest like he was sure the baker would deem him forfeit and take them back. A woman smiled and waved to the baker, who flushed with relief and waved back. Dr. Geiszler stood a moment longer to look between them.

“Oh, you _like_ her,” he whispered conspiratorially to the baker, who blanched. The store wasn’t that large and without anybody else between door and counter to distract them, the woman would likely hear his strained, worn-out voice. “No, you do!”

“Please, for the love of God,” the baker said miserably.

“You’re emitting some fantastic energy there. I’m just saying. I can tell you if she’s tuned to the same frequencies, if you like.”

“I would very much like you to leave.”

“Can I have a basket?”

“What?” The baker blinked at the speed with which the conversation veered off.

“Something to put the bread in,” Dr. Geiszler said, holding up the loaves. “I’m going up into the hills for a study and I don’t wanna drop them in the dirt. I’ll eat them, no worries, but I really would like to avoid it.”

The baker blinked again. If that would get Dr. Geiszler out…. He reached beneath the counter and grabbed one of the large clothes he used to cover his loafs while they were proofing. “Here,” he said, handing it over. “It’s the best I’ve got. Now, please, sir, if you’re done…?”

“Yeah.” Dr. Geiszler took the cloth and wrapped it around the loaves, tying a knot over the top he could hold onto. “Yep. Perfect. Okay, have fun. And, you know,” Dr. Geiszler said, leaning in again to mutter behind his hand, “the interest is there. Give her a shot. It looks like the winds are in your favor.”

Dr. Geiszler, that is to say Newton, that is to say Newt if and only if anybody would bother to become friendly enough with him to warrant such a nickname, winked. The baker made a face that was almost always made in Newt’s direction and hardly had any effect anymore. He spun around, avoiding a collision with the pretty woman, and tipped an invisible hat.

“Good day,” he said cheerfully and stepped out into the silvery-stained morning light.

Most made a habit of avoiding Dr. Geiszler’s general line of sight. It was well known that conversations were bound to lead to embarrassment, confusion, and headaches. He was rather loud. He wasn’t sharply dressed, with a wrinkled shirt, a slightly frayed jacket, and stained trousers that were perhaps a bit too small for him, in that they should be taken out a little in the seat. He was rarely seen without a traveling case and a camera he kept around his neck. He often had ink stains from wrist to elbow that it simply became a part of his look, like he had tattooed himself for some bizarre reason or other.

Newt walked down the main road as he hoisted his heavy looking traveling case up over his shoulder, the cream-colored trunk bumping along his back. He walked with a genial stroll towards the edge of town. He didn’t mind that people stepped across the street with a forced smile, if he were lucky. Not completely. They came to his business when they needed a particularly rare form of treatment, when they were desperate enough to ignore the implications of who they were calling on. They accepted his money for goods and services. They didn’t actively shun him, beyond ignoring him. They laughed a little when he brought back empty glass jars and the children would run up to tug on his sleeve and ask what he had captured this time. Kids were great. They still had an eye for the beyond that hadn’t been truly beaten out of them and marveled at the weird little glowing creatures that swam like lint in the effluvial syrup scooped up in his jars. They listened. They asked questions. They only ran screaming when someone told them off for bothering poor, peculiar, pitiful Dr. Geiszler.

Newt easily followed the main path out. He had a light step to him, despite the heavy leather boots, the rectangular carrying case with a black-lens eye that he slung around his neck, and the aforementioned travelling trunk. He stopped at a sign that announced the city limits with a plain looking post and a bucket hanging from a slightly rusty nail. Newt looked out at the dark woods. He hummed to himself and fished around in his pocket to put two bronze coins in the nearly empty pail. Most paid a small token to maintain the main road on their way in, but Newt always did it on his way out, just in case he didn’t make it back.

“Wish me luck,” he said to the side of the road and laughed, waving at nothing.

The woods started out thick and dark, the canopy interlaced like steepled fingers. A few patches of sunlight filtered down and Newt found a little clearing next to an old stump surrounded by a ring of mushrooms. He set his trunk on the path, the bread he’d purchased from the bakery out on top of the trunk, and clapped his freed hands before he fiddled with the carrying case around his neck. It was a surprisingly thin camera, not barely four inches thick, four inches across, and eight inches tall. Remarkable design he’d come up with himself, of course, because these were remarkable pictures he hoped to capture. He popped open the tab and lifted a bar light up as he took a picture of the stump, humming to himself. The woods went on rustling in their usual manner, not at all disturbed by the man who had come to check on it.

Newt got down closer to the ground, kneeling in the damp soil, and took a close-up picture of the mushrooms at the base. He started to move along when something caught his eye.

“Oh,” he whispered softly, dropping further so his cheek was in the grass. “Oh, there you are.”

He waited.

“I see you,” he announced, in case it had decided to hold still and hope for the best. “You know that, right? I see you right there.”

Again. Nothing.

There was a rumble in the distance as the late summer weather took a turn to the more ominously dark and thunderous. _Rain is rain_ as far as Newt was concerned. He hardly minded, even for the two loaves of fresh bread sitting out on his trunk, too busy searching the ground near him until he found a slender stick that would serve to poke in amongst the toadstool stalks without putting his own flesh and blood in serious, fae-tastic danger. He threaded the twiggy branch in and swept back and forth, knocking off a blue spot that bounced along the ground before it unrolled.

“Gotcha!” Newt exclaimed and reached out to pick up the little bug. He grazed the opalescent blue shell when his hand zinged with a burning pain and he yelped, pulling back. “Hey! Rude.” Newt reached again, but the little bug zapped harder before it scurried away, leaving Newt to suck on his index finger. “Okay! Jesus! Didn’t need to collect a sample anyways. No, certainly not. Certainly not with all this _weird shit_ happening around here! …Ugh, fine. Still. Didn’t need to sting so bad, little guy.”

In the end, he scraped off the cap from one of the outermost mushrooms, the threat of a fairy ring be damned, and put it in his breast pocket. There were better ways to collect samples. There were better ways to make a living, too, but Newt liked his ways and his livings.

There were a few more places along the trail that he had a mind to check out. Something indeed was weird in the woods. There were new spores and new degradations in nature that said something was disturbing the ecosystem. A poison? A plague? An unhealthy vibration through the air? His strange specimens were fewer and farther between. Even the mundane birds and deer and foxes and the like had scattered out. The plants were starting to show signs of distress. Newt was working with the local farmers to check their crops for fear of failure.

“Let the witch doctor sort it out,” they said and, yeah, fine, uncalled for? But also? Accurate.

Newt went through half the French loaf as he walked, occasionally spilling crumbs on the trail. He checked back a few times and saw his bait was working. He paused under an old mossy maple tree and ripped a large chunk of bread, tossing it out into the foliage. The leaves rustled and a mad dash of ghostly white whistled by. Whatever it was, it seemed happy enough for the bread. Newt chucked the second half of the loaf and picked up his case to continue walking.

The _saptori_ were still making their rounds. Soft, wispy white spirits that danced like dandelion fluff on the wind. Their bisected bodies traced the air currents around Newt’s head and he smiled up at them, at their thin torsos and blunt antennae. He still had enough samples of them to cover remedies for head colds from the locals. But it was nice to see that the “whatever weirdness” hadn’t scared them all off.

Newt had a whole troupe of _saptori_ trailing behind him as he made his way to the edge of the forest and out onto the Giant’s Tits. Bad name for a beautiful area. The hills of Riesenbrust rose and fell from the stretch of forest all the way to the edge of a mountain range that cut off their valley from the ocean. Back when sailors and the likes thought the sea was full of serpents and going too far would send them right off the edge of the world, they named the mountain the Wall of Life and thanked it for protecting them. All it did now was put too much rock between town and the trading port. Made a decent enough scenery to gawk at the very least. Mostly.

The hills? The hills were gorgeous. Sparsely picked apart by trees, but with thick green grass and wild flowers that came up in blankets when it was time for them. Even with the sky overhead threatening to tear open and rain hell down on them, it was just beautiful.

Newt whistled as he trudged down a slim path plodded into the hills. He knew the _saptori_ would go hide under the foliage instead of following him, which was fine. There were more spirits and plants and animals to come hunting for. He waved at them just as the first touch of rain splattered on his hand. Newt barely smiled, looking at the rain drop run across the back of his lightly-ink-stained hand. He opened his case and tossed the second loaf of bread inside for good measure.

“Good thing I wore my boots,” he said absently, looking up to get three more splatters on his thick glasses.

He smudged the water off with his index finger and looked up, sweeping his hand back and forth above his head like a painter’s brush. The water started to collect in a warbly arc, until he had himself a canopy that acted as a temporary barrier from the rain.

“So, my fine floral friends,” Newt sang, heading towards a thick overgrown patch of wildflowers at the crest of one of the hills. He crouched down, setting his trunk on the gravel and unslinging the camera from around his neck. “Say ‘cheese.’” He bit his tongue and started to slip in closer when lightning cracked overhead with the power to light up the entire sky. Newt flinched before he looked up. “What in the….”

A violent flash of light streaked across the sky, illuminating it in electric blues and whites. More than mere lightning and missing that tell-tale thunder that Newt found himself holding his breath, waiting for it to arrive. He stood. Staring up at the dark sky, hoping it might happen again. And when he was rewarded, his heart chucked up to the back of his throat and he nearly dropped everything to run.

The light made a line through the clouds, yes, but it highlighted something impossible. A giant shape of some great and terrible beast, the head monstrous, almost lizard-like, with eyes that glowed blue before it disappeared in the atmosphere. Something roared, grating metal more than actual thunder, and then the sight was gone. All of it. The rain came down harder in its absence.

Newt stood firmly, as though his boots had been melted to the earth. He was breathing too quickly and water began to get through the barrier above him, streaking his glasses. He pushed them back up the slope of his nose.

Whatever that creature was….

God in heaven, Newt wanted to see it again.

Another bold line of light. This one arced towards the earth and crashed into the hills some three miles away. Newt gasped, breaking the spell completely. The rain soaked him through, but he didn’t dare mind. He hoisted up his trunk and started running towards the hills to see what had just fallen from the skies.

It wasn’t a fast run, nor a graceful one. He was huffing hard, squinting through rain stained glasses as he tried to find the source of the meteor. He bumped the corner of his traveling trunk against his knee too many times to count and would hate himself for that tomorrow. But he ran.

There was little sign of disturbance at the crest of one of Riesenbrust’s hills. A few chunks of red-clay rocks here and there, but no felled trees or fire or a great trench to show the way. Newt was near gasping for air as he climbed up and looked down at the ditch where a man lay in the rain.

That. Wasn’t a meteor?

Newt stopped to gulp down a few lungfuls of air, holding his forehead. It ached. Badly. His vision was swimming and for a brief moment he thought he saw starlight all around the man, draped beneath him like some cloak. He shut his eyes, afraid he was going to faint, but the moment passed. He looked down again and, sure enough, just a man. His head was split open and he was on his side with big, ugly red marks across his back, showing through where his shirt had torn. He was wearing the plainest clothes imaginable and worn to rags at that. No shoes. No coat. No hat. Well, man had sense enough not to wear a hat, even with that weird, ugly haircut. Sort’ve adorably ugly, actually.

Newt realized he was doing nothing more than staring. He jolted forward, holding the top of his head as he slipped down the muddy bank into the ditch.

“Please tell me you’re not dead,” Newt whispered, touching the man’s shoulder.

The man gasped, pulling back violently, before he curled up on himself with a low, miserable groan.

“Hey!” Newt cried out victoriously. “You’re _not_ dead!”

“N…n-not…?” The man’s voice was low and deep and sort’ve beautiful. Sort’ve rough and beautiful, Newt decided. He decided it without thinking and stuck to it like he was decreed by law. Whatever this man was. He was rough and beautiful. Which was ridiculous, but Newt was a ridiculous man by default. “Not… _ohhh_.”

“Yeah, oh,” Newt answered, realizing what was really bothering him. The man’s leg was bent oddly, and Newt noticed he had potentially fractured his left femur. “Oh shit, actually. Is more like. Okay. Look, I’m going to help you.”

“Help…?”

“Don’t move,” Newt said, pushing the man’s shoulder back down.  “And don’t get all weird and upset about this.”

Newt turned back to his traveling trunk and popped the hinges. The rain beat down hard and he waved another canopy of water over himself to protect the contents inside said case. He touched the bread inside the knotted piece of cloth. Little smooshed on the side, but not damp. Still good. Newt looked back at the man as he fingered the cloth a little. They’d share some later, he decided, and shifted it to get out another bundle.

There was a silvery green rope coiled up in a pale cheese cloth, wrapped together in very thin twine. When Newt undid the string, revealed something akin to a snake. A long body with a short head, blunt nose, thin black eyes that were opaque after death. Little lacy frills framed the cheeks and slipped down the back about three inches. The creature had been fast when alive, that was for certain. Delicate, too, but fast. Newt wriggled back over and smiled placatingly at the man before he bit open the back of the creature and started rubbing blood on the man’s leg. He started peeling off scales and sewed them onto the man’s skin with a quick spell, until there was a line of them that seemed to stitch the worst of it over. It was a temporary remedy at best. Newt wasn’t big enough to carry him all the way back to town on his own, and he needed to get them up and going soon. The man wriggled and pushed away pathetically, but Newt got his work down all the same.

“Alright. Should numb you for….” Newt looked up at the sky, at the dark clouds, and remembered the streak of light he had chased earlier before he distantly finished, “a few hours …or so…. Say. You didn’t see, like, some lightning and maybe something like a rock or such fall from the sky, did you?”

“Did _you_?” the man answered back, scowling.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m…never mind.” Newt closed his case and snapped it shut. “You ready to stand?”

The man blinked up at him, his thin mouth going nearly invisible as he pressed his lips together. He looked pale and when Newt touched his arm, realized he was burning up, too. He had a flash of thought that the man had been burning up because _he_ had fallen from the sky, but that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

Newt was a ridiculous man…on principle….

Either way, they didn’t have time. He ignored wordless shouts of complaint as he helped the man up, letting him lean heavily on Newt’s shoulder. They both dipped down so Newt could grab his trunk back up and they made a pitifully slow advance back to the village. It was dark and rainy the entire time, which added nothing to aiding him. Even the _saptori_ didn’t come out to check up on him. He should have noticed. But he didn’t.


	2. A Sleeping Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt takes Hermann back to his home, where he takes care of a broken leg and tries to figure out who this strange man is. Too bad all he does is sleep.

The man was wobbling when out in Riesenbrust, but he was close to dead weight by the time Newt kicked open the front door to his small home.

“One more step, come on, man,” Newt said, slick with sweat and rain. He dropped his travel trunk immediately with a heavy _thump-crash_ as he led the man over to his small bed. Nothing was truly hidden in the house. It was a one-room cabin, stuffed to the brim, of course, but visible from nearly every corner. There were two dividing walls available. One for the kitchen, as Newt was almost certain he would set himself and everything on fire if he didn’t have something to cage the smoke and flames. The second wall hid a little bathroom. Toilet, shower, sink. It was, as far as things go, modest. _Tiny_ , some said. _Home_ , Newt said after.

Perhaps that’s why he generally did not have guests.

“Come on,” Newt said, his voice straining to the edge of his vocal range. He was panting hard and he needed a little lie down himself. But the bed was going to someone else, so, he’d figure that out shortly. “I know. I know, your leg is broken, but I’ll get you patched up if you just…lay…down!”

The man collapsed on the bed in a heap. Newt went down with him, simply because their limbs were entwined, and he struggled to stand back up. His arms and legs were jelly-weak, and he felt a slight tremor go through him. But they’d made it!

Newt clapped his hands and dusted down the front of his shirt, leaving mud stains. He bit his tongue and looked around, fetching the wooden chair away from his desk. He sat down heavily, same as the man had collapsed heavily.

“So,” he started, but shook his head. “You’re out, aren’t you?”

He was.

“Mm. Probably better. I bet that poor leg hurts like hell, friend. I’m gonna try and set it and you’re gonna get seriously piss-drunk mad at me, but I think that’s just how it’s gonna have to be. Right?” Newt leaned forward a little, watching the man breathe on his side, his arms loosely tucked up near his head, his back facing Newt. Newt just nodded, once. “Right. Well.”

There was a crackle in the air, a static electricity that tingled on the tips of Newt’s fingers. He paused, watching the man’s back and the long lines torn through his shirt. He stared, his head starting to buzz as the long red scars across the man’s back began to glow. It didn’t hurt. Or it didn’t hurt enough to stop. He stared.

Newt pushed in closer only to be knocked back by what looked like a tear through the air. It was shaped like a wing, but in place of feathers or even perhaps the leathery wing of a bat, it showed the brilliant expanse of the stars. The shape was full of nebulous clouds and colors, the impossibly large churn of a galaxy’s spiral. Newt’s head felt like it was going to split, and his eyes stung like hot copper had been poured into them, but he didn’t dare blink, looking straight into the tear. Something wet splashed down the front of his face. Newt blindly wiped away the blood before the wing tucked in around the man. Newt gasped out an almost-laugh and promptly passed out.

\---

“I’m awake!”

This was not something he shouted often, but also not something so strange that it would seem very bizarre for Newt to shoot up from his seat and proclaim he was, indeed, awake. Sometimes, one needed to declare their consciousness. Boldly. Proudly. With a little pathetic groan and wiping away an itchy crust of blood from their top lip, but still! Proclaimed all the same!

“What...the…?”

Newt arched and stretched and came into himself with plenty of little noises to prove he was awake, alive, and allowed to be loud. That last part wasn’t a necessity other than he liked to prove to himself such aspects. Also, everything sort’ve hurt, so that lent itself nicely to making plenty of noises.

At the very least, he had passed out in the chair. That was lucky.

Newt blinked out sleep and, again, scrubbed at the streak of blood down his face, wondering when he had a nose bleed and if he should be worried—he should, but he was too busy to focus on that. He remembered instantly he had a guest and jerked towards the bed to see the man had hardly moved. There he was, on his side, shirt tattered, pants nearly ripped to shreds, and an ugly, almost black bruise on his leg.

“Oh yeah,” Newt said softly. He pushed away from the chair, kneeling down beside the bed, and held onto the mattress as he got closer. He noticed a slightly sharp smell of lime, maybe lemon? Maybe softer than that. Maybe orange. Whatever it was, it was coming off the sleeping gentleman, who looked close to death save for his even breathing. “Right. I’m gonna fix you up.”

Newt touched the man’s skin and was relieved to feel it wasn’t feverish or painfully cold. Last thing he needed was a vampire, which was a strange thought to have, and made Newt laugh as he got up to gather supplies.

He took just a moment to go into his bathroom to splash water on his face, clean himself up. He undid his shirt and tossed it over towards a worryingly large pile of clothes and decided he could just as easily work shirtless as he could with a shirt on. Nobody around except for an unconscious man to see the patterns of blue and green and red going up Newt’s chest. Witch marks, many would say. Many might say something else, but they didn’t know what they were talking about and Newt didn’t show them off enough to explain better anyways.

After he was cleaned up, Newt gathered up items around the room. He was better equipped for the leg now that they were at his home. It needed to be reset, of course, and he promised he didn’t mean anything by it as he got to work, apologizing to someone who didn’t stir or twitch. The man moaned something under his breath, once, but that was about it.

Newt was almost impressed and mostly concerned with how much abuse this man could take. He smoothed his hands flat across the man’s chest, feeling out little breaks and bumps and bad spots. Newt found an old deep wound in his shoulder, which he wrapped up and smoothed his hand across again, applying heat. He sewed a spirit into the man’s chest to help heal something that was hurting under his ribs.

“You feel like you’ve been to war, man,” Newt commented, not even down to his leg yet.

And, oh, the leg. Not that there was anyone there to lie to, but Newt made little promises that it wasn’t that bad. It was, but he said it out loud anyways as he reset it, wincing and waiting for the man to shoot up and curse him out. Nothing. Well, good. Maybe. Possibly.

Newt started up on a poultice, picking out the scales he’d stitched into the skin earlier and spreading something cool and pungent across the bruise. It was laughably easy to strip off the pant-leg, tearing it in a neat line up near the man’s slender hip. Almost indecent, and Newt promised the man, for no other reason than to clear his conscious, that he wasn’t looking. He definitely wasn’t looking. He looked once and went bright red and kept on working.

“I can see why you tripped,” Newt said quietly, finding a smidge of decency to scold himself.

For the most part, it was quick and clean work. Newt wrapped him up, working slow and tender so as not to jostle him too much. When he was done, there were several smears of the smelly paste on the man’s tattered pants and, of course, only the one pant leg left. Newt looked at it, chewing his lip before he went to his pile of clothes and rummaged around. There was a pair of baggier slacks, mostly clean. A good sniff test told Newt they were probably fine before he came back.

“Sorry again,” Newt said for the twentieth time.

He’d already had his look between the man’s legs— _sorry_ —and gently removed the old muddy slacks, leaving the man in his shirt, which Newt was also going to replace. He took even greater care putting pants back on, keeping is eyes fixed to the man’s navel. He touched the bandages around his leg and poured in a little warmth before he sat back.

“Christ, I’m hungry.”

He looked at the man, not moving, just staring. Plainly staring this time. His smooth pale chest, his slim but wiry muscles something impressive. He wondered about the two long stripes across his back and thought he remembered stars for a moment, but just the thought made his head hurt.

“You hungry?” he asked conversationally and nodded when there was no answer. “You will be, I bet. I bet I need to do some shopping. I bet I go out there and you wake up and you’re all confused and angry and hurt and you try to get up and you break your leg all over again and that’ll be a mess, right? And then you’ll be all ‘I can’t believe you left me here to break my leg!’ But, I’ll remind you. I’ll tell you, ‘I left to get us food, buddy. Cause we’re hungry.’ I _am_ hungry.”

Newt sighed before he remembered the bread in his trunk. He clapped his hands triumphantly and got up, getting himself the loaf, still wrapped up just like he’d had it earlier. He plopped back down in the chair, taking a big bite off the top. Perfection. That baker, truly, was an artist. Maybe a wizard. Newt only hoped in a tangential sense for that to be true. Be less lonely if the baker was.

It was less lonely now. Now. With this strange sleeping man.

“Who are you?” Newt asked around his mouthful of bread, even going so far to wait for an answer that didn’t come. That was alright. They had time.

Hours, likely. Days, maybe.

It turned out, more time than that.

Newt stayed in the cabin a full twenty-four hours before he decided to head out and get work done. He barely tidied up, as he didn’t need someone sleeping on his bed _judging_ him for his messy, well, life? Was accurate, but a bit cruel. Either way, he cleaned. Mostly, he rearranged. He got to work on the pile of clothes, folding up the mostly clean and setting the definitely dirty into a basket to be washed. He dusted off his sample jars and put away too many books back on the shelves. He made lists for himself and his guest and kept going back to check his progress. A steady heartbeat and even breathing. It was the best he could hope for.

There was still work to be done for the university. Newt was doing a large sample study of the area, noting the changes in the flora and fauna. He didn’t go out to the hills again, but he slipped into the forest twice while waiting for his new friend to wake. He stopped by the town’s library to get a second record of history in the area from one Dr. Kuller, back in 1893. He looked up at the mountains and wondered if he’d imagined that great big beast in the sky. He wondered about the meteor. He bought vegetables.

At night, he poured over his samples and carefully dissected a few specimens until candlelight strained his vision to the point of a headache and he pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. He cleaned up and washed himself and half his clothes and made a somewhat bitter leek soup. He slept at his desk. He slept on the floor. He slept on his clothes. He almost slept on the bed with the man just because it was his bed and he missed it, but didn’t. He waited.

And waited.

And—

\---

“And don’t get that wet for two days,” Newt said, helping an old man up out of the only chair in the place. The old man’s knee was bulging. He took a cane, limping towards the door. Newt had saved his leg from the knee down, and he thanked Newt profusely.

Of _course_ Newt couldn’t put off his informal practice forever. Even if the sleeping man was in a coma—he wasn’t dead! That was something! He was just asleep for six days now and that was a bit ridiculous, but Newt was staying firmly in the wait and see stage until any sign tipped towards disastrous—he still took some of his patients and brought them in. He explained that he was tending to the sleeping man and just to ignore him. Almost everyone did. They were too busy with burns down to their bones or coughs that brought up blood or blinding headaches and were desperate for help. Newt helped.

“You promise?” Newt asked with a laugh, leading the old man to the door.

“I promise, Dr. Geiszler,” the old man answered in that soft reverent voice people used on him when he saved their lives. Or at least they thought he saved their lives. He just saved the leg this time, that’s all.

“Alright, Mr. Lemsworth. And you’re okay to make it home?”

Mr. Lemsworth nodded. “My Betsy will be there.”

“Why isn’t she here?”

“Well….” Mr. Lemsworth was too embarrassed to say she wasn’t here because of Newt, of course. Newt let it slide.

“No worries. Get home safe. And, hey, take Betsy out dancing next week. That’ll be a treat, huh?”

Mr. Lemsworth laughed with these great big grateful tears on his cheeks. It was nice. This was the nice part of his job, Newt knew, and made it worthwhile.

Newt was just closing the door when he heard, “You,” in a deep quiet voice that shook him too his core. He ended up slamming the door behind Mr. Lemsworth and jumped, opening it right back up again.

“Sorry! Wind,” he said quickly. He didn’t need a nice old man offended by him. He closed the door gently and turned around to see the man sitting up in his bed, the sheet clutched up to his bandaged chest. “Oh. My. God.”

“God,” the man repeated in something of a miserable warble, dropping back onto two pillows fluffed up behind his head. He scoffed and groaned, touching his chest. “You….”

“You’re awake!” Newt rushed to his side, his hands fluttering here and there before he finally settled them on the man’s arm. He flinched, pulling back, and Newt removed his own hands, holding them up near his face. “Do you know how long you’ve been asleep?”

“No…?” the man asked, tilting his head. “You know…?”

“I mean, obviously I know.” Newt pulled an invisible string behind his back and his chair scooted up to the edge of the bed, knocked against his knees. He didn’t even think about it as he sat down, almost putting his feet on the bed frame so he could lean on his knees. “Six _days_! I mean, we were skirting fairly close to seven, but I think we’re a few hours off. I can’t believe it! You’re awake! Who are you?”

The man blinked at Newt’s exuberance. His eyes traveled over Newt’s face and it looked like he was working hard on an answer. Not that he was slow to answer, but that he wanted to pick out his words correctly, while Newt let them fall out like he was too full of them.

“That’s alright,” Newt finally said, almost ready to burst when the man took too long. “You just woke up, of course. Obviously. Duh. You’re still coming to, right? Gotta be weird, right? I mean, I bet you feel like death. I though you were going to die, actually, but you didn’t. Sorry. No. Right. Let you come to, obviously. Feel human?” Newt laughed.

“Hu…erm. Man.”

Newt tilted his head, mishearing the little quiet mumble. He spoke so softly. But then it clicked in his head and he gasped.

“Hermann?” Newt almost bounced, straightening up. “Hermann! Well!” He beamed; he was sure he beamed. Newt put a hand on his chest. “I’m Dr. Newton Geiszler. Newt. Of course. You can call me Newt. Of course. In fact, please call me Newt. No need for the doctor business. It’s whatever. Sorry. I’m Newt. There.”

“Newt?”

“Yeah!” Newt got up, almost upending his chair, and went to his kitchen. He came back with a pitcher of water, pouring a glass. He took a deep drink from it before he poured again and handed the same glass over to Hermann. “Here. You gotta be thirsty.”

Hermann stared at the glass and the hand that offered it. He sat up again, propped on his elbow. He finally reached out and took the glass, drinking deeply. Newt looked satisfied when Hermann didn’t choke or throw the glass or anything other than drink it, finishing up with a sigh.

“So,” Newt said, slowly lowering himself back in his chair.

“So,” Hermann repeated.

“Who _are_ you, man?!”

Hermann studied Newt’s face with those same dark eyes, framed in the prettiest eye lashes. They were intelligent eyes. Knowing eyes. They’d seen something great and terrible and infinite, Newt knew. He could see it there. But it didn’t transfer well to his mouth. He opened said mouth a few times, as though on the precipice of answer, and then closed it again. And again. He sat up more and moaned, pain flaying across his face. He jerked away the blanket to stare at his leg. He touched his borrowed trousers, then the bandages around his leg.

“Oh, right,” Newt said, scooting closer. “You broke your leg. It probably does _not_ feel great, right?” He laughed a little, but Hermann didn’t look pleased. “It’s still healing. I’d leave it—oh, okay.”

Hermann gripped and tore the pant leg over the bandages. The bruise had transformed into a dark green, spreading out like a galaxy. He moaned again as he pressed his fingers into the badly bruised skin, finally drawing a sharp hiss through his teeth. Newt winced with him as he explored the depths of his injury.

“No, yeah, like I said. You broke it. It’s gonna take some time before you wanna put weight on that. I mean, you were lying down in a ditch. You were really messed up, Herms, buddy.” Newt picked up nicknames for people without their permission almost always too quickly. He couldn’t help it. “But you’re getting better! You want anything to eat?”

“It….” Hermann clenched his fist and laid back down.

“Hurts?”

“It hurts,” Hermann repeated. “Messed up.”

“Yeah,” Newt said, smiling. “Pretty messed up.”

“Here?” Hermann asked and touched his shoulder. “Here was, mm, messed up.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah it was. I fixed that. Does it feel better?”

“Yeah,” Hermann answered and relaxed more.

“Glad to hear it, buddy.”

Newt smiled while Hermann closed his eyes. He didn’t look like he was sleeping. Merely contemplating his existence. Merely finding himself again. Six days was a long time.

“I’m gonna get you something to eat,” Newt said and got up, only for Hermann to suddenly grab his wrist and pull him back down. He didn’t open his eyes, but he was breathing faster, harder. Newt sank back in his chair. “Okay. That’s okay. I’m here.”

“Here,” Hermann repeated.

“I’ll stay here.”

Hermann nodded, loosening his grip. Not letting go. Newt thought he really didn’t mind.


	3. A Fainting Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann reveals what he is to Newt, who is thrilled to see the wings again. Unfortunately, he can't seem to stay awake very long to witness them. Bummer!

Hermann needed to sleep again. A lot, actually, which wasn’t even a problem now that Newt knew he wasn’t stuck in a coma. He did it fitfully, muttering and twitching. He woke several times, arm raised to block some dreamt blow to his head, and then sank back down in sweat-drenched sheets. Newt asked, every time, but Hermann did _not_ want to talk about it. He closed his eyes or sometimes asked for water. He expected Newt to take his chair next to the bed and when he did, Hermann would grab his wrist and hold it. He ran his thumb across Newt’s jumping pulse point, catching his breath, finding his peace again. Newt always thought his wrists were too cold when he went back to sleep, and preferred to stay in the uncomfortable chair anyways. He still took the floor when he needed to. Hermann, trapped in bed with his leg still on the mend.

When they weren’t sleeping, Newt did other things around the house. Newt cooked, poorly. He burnt so many things and undercooked the rest and fed them to Hermann, who made faces when something was truly inedible, but put up with nearly everything else. It wasn’t like they had much of an option. Well, the option was to finally actually open up a cookbook and teach himself properly, but who had time for that? Newt was a genius! In other areas of expertise, but still. No. Trial and error, that’s all it took. Trial and error.

So, Newt cooked. Newt also tried to clean up more and did laundry more often. He gave Hermann clothes to try on and went into the kitchen or the bathroom to give him the privacy to dress himself. He came back to three different torn shirts and two pairs of torn trousers, split unevenly down the middle, as though Hermann had unwrapped himself like a present. Newt knew a _little_ about sewing and sat in the chair next to Hermann while he tried to mend his clothes. Trial and error. That’s all.

And all through this, through every little task and errand and attempt, Newt talked. He talked and talked and talked and talked at him. Most adamantly at him.

Hermann wasn’t… _great_ at conversation.

They stumbled and started a few times, but it became abundantly clear that Hermann didn’t have a full grasp on the language. He had a softer accent, which made sense. He was from somewhere else. _Where_ , Newt wondered and when he asked, Hermann just laid back and looked at the ceiling before closing his eyes, his sign that he was done for the day.

They talked about the area. About the numerous spirits slipping in and out of the house, which Newt was _delighted_ Hermann could see. They talked about food. Burnt food. Better food. Promises to go out when Hermann’s leg was better to get just the best bread ever made and how the baker was absolutely magically inclined, even if he didn’t know it.

They talked about the specimen of wildlife lined up in various glass jars on thick sturdy shelves. The discoveries made in the area, the studies he was doing for the farmers and the university.

They talked about cloth. About clothing in general, since Hermann had destroyed his fair share of borrowed clothes and what different styles he liked on himself and on Newt. He had opinions, even if it was hard to get them out. And they tried. Through words and pantomiming and even little drawings on scraps of paper—Hermann was surprisingly talented at drawing. Better than speaking. Newt smiled at the figures and doodles and tucked them into a notebook to keep for, oh, forever? They tried to find their communication that worked best. God, they really tried.

Newt tested out a few other languages, but he was rudimentary and awkward and it seemed easier to just go back to what he had, assuming Hermann would catch up. He _was_ catching up. He understood, that much was clear, and when he didn’t, Newt just repeated himself and they worked it out together.

Days slipped by with some progress. Hermann still didn’t like it much when Newt left, getting all fidgety and asking “Where? Why? When” whenever he got on his coat and boots.

“Store. Food. Like an hour at most.”

Newt had given Hermann his pocket watch and taught him how to read it. He picked up numbers quicker than anything. Drawings and gestures were great, but if they could speak in complicated mathematical equations, that probably would have sped things up a bit. That was already ingrained into Hermann, it seemed, and Newt understood the genius hidden in Hermann. Hermann liked the regimented puzzles of problems, where-in numbers came into it. Newt sort’ve wished he was better at it, but, either way. He gave Hermann the pocket watch and whenever Newt said an hour and he was back even a minute later, he had to deal with _hand gestures_ and _accusations_ and _grump._ Hermann was a professional grump sometimes. Newt wasn’t about to tell him it made him far more endearing than anything else.

Contentment was falling on the house in a cozy warmth that Newt didn’t know he missed. Or needed. He found himself staying in more just to make sure Hermann was comfortable. It was clear he wasn’t. He wanted to get up and walk, but at least they were there to grouse at each other. And grump. Of course.

“Like I _said_ , buddy,” Newt said, pouring a cup of tea for Hermann, a muddy herbal blend that helped with his recovery. Newt hated the stuff, but Hermann seemed to enjoy it and it really helped bring back his color. He looked better. He _sounded_ better. “You gotta take it easy. It’s healing. It’s—”

“Messed up, yes,” Hermann said curtly, blowing on the steam. “Less messed up every day.” He paused, looking into the cup. “I heal very…not the same, Newt. I am healing. I am almost, erm, healed?”

“No way,” Newt said with a little laugh. “I mean, yes, you’re healing, man, but. Not almost…. It’s barely been two weeks. No, that needs, like—”

Hermann held his cup close to his chest. He had on one of Newt’s shirts, unbuttoned low enough to show off his sternum. It was a little short on the sleeves and hung baggy around his middle. Newt had to admit, if just to himself, it looked distractingly good on him. He had to tear his eyes up from Hermann’s chest when he tossed the blanket back, showing off his skinny legs. He grabbed a fistful of the tweedy brown trousers again and Newt leapt up from his chair.

“Oh, okay! No, wait. Don’t rip those. The last pair were a real pain to stitch and there is no way I can wear them out of the house. You _know_ you don’t have to do that.”

Hermann huffed, smoothing his hand down and twisted his face, eyebrows pooling up to ask _what do I do instead_?

For whatever reason, that made Newt laugh.

No, he had a reason. It was creeping up his neck and igniting his face in a rosy color.

 _Stop it. You’re a doctor. You’ve seen everything._ And he laughed again.

“Oh, I’m a doctor,” he said aloud, used to speaking to himself far more than was usually considered comfortable. “But not for this. Y’know? But…. _Fine_. But I’m gonna run out of clothes if you keep…anyways…okay _fine_. Fine. Jesus.”

“Mm?”

“Nothing,” Newt said gently and knocked Hermann’s hand out of the way with his wrist—less intimate a touch than with his palm or his fingers. That was his reasoning. Absolutely. Yep. “Alright. Let’s check out this leg, buddy.”

“You’ll see. I am correct in this, buddy,” Hermann said, and just hearing the term repeated back in his low, vaguely aristocratic voice made Newt blush harder. So hard his vision felt like it was blurring. “Are you alright?”

Newt blinked and looked up from his hands on Hermann’s—his, because they _were_ his trousers—zipper. “Hm?”

“You look messed up. No you look…you’re red.”

“No. No, I’m—”

Hermann reached up and put his hands flat on Newt’s cheeks. His palms were cool and dry, his slender thumb brushing effortlessly across Newt’s cheek. It was comforting and shocking and Newt jerked back, again knocking Hermann’s hand away with his wrist.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice crawling up his throat as he stood. “I’m fine. Your leg is probably fine, Herms. Don’t rip those.”

“Newt?”

Newt turned away, running fingers quickly through his hair as he headed towards the kitchen. He registered the slight panic in Hermann’s voice, but he was busy getting himself back in order. It was stupid to feel all fluttery and flustered. Hermann was playing dumb; he knew how to dress himself. He had dressed himself. Was that a weird foreign kind of flirting? No. Not that. Obviously. Newt bit his cheeks and didn’t turn around when Hermann called for him again. Not until he heard a grunt of pain followed quickly by Hermann clearly stumbling to the ground.

“Jesus, Herms, you—”

When he turned, he nearly stumbled himself, clutching his head. The pain came suddenly, a stab through the center of his skull as he looked up at Hermann. The light sliced across his eyes and he felt his nose bleeding again, dripping steadily down his face and off his chin. He didn’t even wipe it away this time. Too much. Too fast. All he could really do was try to hold his skull together.

“Y-y-you’re….”

 _Floating_.

Newt wanted to say, _you’re floating._

He said _hello_ to the floor instead.

\---

This time, there was no sudden jolt awake, no proclamations. Newt’s eyes felt gummy and heavy as he shifted, turning his cheek into one of his pillows. He hummed, breathing in the familiar scent of his bed mingled with the now familiar scent of something else. Not exactly a long-standing smell, but a comfort nonetheless. There it was, laced under it, crisp and clear as when Newt dragged him out of the ditch. He stretched slowly, raising his arm only to feel something hot against his skin.

Newt flinched, smashing his back against the wall when he opened his eyes to see Hermann in his chair, holding out a steaming cup.

“Morning, sunshine,” Hermann said, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

Newt said that to him every time Hermann woke up, of course. It was a parroted phrase. It sounded genuine and kind and Hermann’s face was genuine and kind, but the man didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was saying. He _did_ know, though. Newt caught him understanding more than he let on….

“How’s the head?” Hermann asked softly with the cup of tea stretched out. Same as how Newt would bring Hermann a cup of tea for breakfast. Hermann was just taking his cues again from the routine.

This was not routine.

“What happened?”

“You fell,” Hermann answered, nudging the cup closer. Newt looked down at it and shook his head. “You should. It helps. You always say—”

“You were floating.”

Hermann blinked. The little cogs and gears were churning away and Newt finally reached out and took the cup, setting it down on his nightstand before Hermann spilled down the front of himself. Last thing they needed was for Hermann to strip off his—Newt’s—shirt.  

“You were _floating_ ,” Newt repeated, and hovered his hand above the bed. Hermann shook his head and Newt laughed, short and surprised, slapping his hand down. “Yes you were. Yes you were! You had _wings_ , Herms.” Then it clicked in Newt’s head after he said it aloud. “You had wings. You had wings! Holy shit! Hermann…you had _wings_.”

“Yes,” Hermann said, a bit exasperated. “As you’ve said.”

“Yeah, but….” Another gasp. “You’re not human. You _fell_. Oh my god, during that storm, with the big…the big whatever in the sky? And the meteor. And. That was _you_!”

“Newton….” Hermann frowned, sitting back as far as he could manage.

“No. Come on, man.”

“Newt,” Hermann corrected and closed his eyes, taking a deep, deep breath. “I.”

“Are you an angel?”

“I don’t know,” Hermann answered and shook his head, his eyebrows crinkling together. “I don’t know ‘angel.’”

“For starters for ten, you don’t have six wings and three heads and a wheel of eyes, so that knocks that one right out of the park.” Hermann touched his face, nodding to himself. “Can I see them again?”

“What?”

“Your wings. Can I see them again?”

“But. But you…” Hermann dragged his fingers down from his nostrils to his chin before he reached out again to touch Newt’s shoulder. “Lots of blood. You fell. You’ve slept three hours, forty-seven minutes. That’s not…not good.”

“Four hours? _Man_ ,” Newt said, his voice caught down near his shoulder. “I don’t know why, though. I’ve never had a fainting problem before. Course, never met an angel before either.” He grinned, glancing back up at Hermann’s sweet, worried face. “Please? Show me again. I want to be certain.”

“I am certain. Certain that—”

“Herms.” Newt schooled his features. He patted Hermann’s hand on his shoulder, removed it and entwined their fingers. A friendly gesture. Soothing. That’s all. “Buddy.”

“Buddy,” Hermann repeated with a grumble, rolling his eyes. He was really getting it. It made Newt laugh, a little unnecessarily proud of him. “Newt, I don’t—”

“I’m already in bed. Please. Look, they’re very clearly a part of you. And me? Man, I’ve told you. I’m a man of science. We gotta figure this out. Experimentation. _That_ is the name of the game.”

“What game?”

“Show me your wings, Hermann. Please?”

“And ‘please’ is meant to make this ask better.”

“You got it.”

Hermann sighed again, his shoulders sloped as he looked up at the ceiling. Newt felt a hundred questions already bubbling up, but he swallowed them back, forcing himself to find that little vial of patience he kept locked up in his head and wait. Wait. Wait—

When Hermann sat forward, moving a few inches towards Newt, the air practically shivered around him. It was more a sound, an almost pressure as the wings unfurled. Then they started to come into focus with a slow and careful reveal.

Newt’s head hurt instantly. Far less intense than before, but the prickling pain punched him between the eyes. He winced, touching his temple as ethereal galaxies shimmered into focus. Hermann touched Newt’s hand, concern painted plainly on his face.

“You should not see them,” Hermann said softly. “But you do.”

“I see a lot of things I shouldn’t see,” Newt answered, his voice straining. He stared at them, at the starlight twinkling, at the expanse of space that was cut out in the perfect shape of Hermann’s giant wings. Deep blacks cut across with blue and purple, violent streaks of red and soft, soft starlight. “Comes with…who I am. I guess.”

The dribbling started up again. Newt winced when Hermann wiped up some of the blood, staring at his finger. At the bright spot of red on his skin. He shook his head, but Newt grabbed his hand and the wings flexed, a flutter that made them sharp and bold and brilliant.

Too much.

Newt would have apologized, but his tongue went numb and his eyes rolled up in the back of his head as he slumped back onto the bed. He wasn’t aware that Hermann transferred himself onto the bed to hold him, whispering something lost and forgotten, some nonsensical apology. If Newt were awake, he’d tell him to stop apologizing. That they were amazing. That they were beautiful. That it was the most fantastic thing he’d ever witnessed, and he’d witness it again if he could dare. If Newt were awake, he’d probably do something worse, like kiss Hermann. But he wasn’t. For better or worse, he wasn’t.


	4. A Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann is finally well enough to travel out of the house and Newt would like to make it a special day for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! It's been too long!! Time to jump into it again, amirite?

It was agreed upon that Hermann would _not_ be showing off his wings again in the near or distant future. He refused when Newt woke up, later when they were carefully walking around the cabin, and later still when they sat down at his meager kitchen table to eat some soup he had whipped together—could use salt…and maybe vegetables…really any seasoning would have been ideal.

“Okay, but what if we set up parameters? What if it just needs some exposure therapy!” Newt slammed his spoon down on the table with more force than he meant to.

“No, Newt,” Hermann answered for the twentieth time. “You bled.”

“Oh, whatever, I’m full of blood.”

“It’s _not_ good for you.”

“So’s smoking. Which, I don’t do that either, but…okay, let me think about it. I have a comparison. Hold on.”

“No, Newt!”

And so the argument went. It can be said, Hermann’s speech was improving immensely.

Hermann wasn’t lying, either. He got better. He was still stiff on the left side. His leg wanted to give out and he tired quickly when he was clearly restraining himself from picking himself up by his wings for Newt’s sake. Newt got him a cane to help and propped him up under his arm, blushing when Hermann rested his head on Newt’s and thanked him each time he stopped them from falling to the ground. They practiced around the house until they thought a little journey into town would do them some good.

“Stretch our legs,” Newt said as he got around a pair of shoes for Hermann and a coat and a scarf, because the man looked like he got cold easily—and did. “Stretch our…wings.”

Newt grinned and earned a light slap to his shoulder.

“No, Newt.”

“You’ll ‘yes, Newt,’ me one of these days, Herms. I bet my life on it!”

Hermann rolled his eyes. He grabbed his cane. He took Newt’s hand, because that was where he was most comfortable, and they left the house without further comment.

It was what many might call a “lovely day.” The sun was up with a happy, healthy breeze trickling through the town without knocking into anyone with a powerful gust. The clouds were big, fluffy whips and many people were out walking, taking their time to get to work. Enough people that they could pretend to get lost in a crowd. Most everyone gave Newt, and by extension Hermann, a wide berth on the sidewalks. He continued smiling, taking his time as Hermann adjusted to his cane and all the people around them.

“So, okay, you keep dodging me like a bastard, Herms, but I gotta try again. Tell me, what’s God like?” Newt asked, staring up at the sky. Hermann made a questioning sound, tightening his hold on Newt’s hand. “God. The big guy. Your…boss?”

“I did, er, I reported to….” Hermann paused a moment, pulling a proper translation of the name. “Stacker. He was….” Hermann clicked his tongue and leaned in towards Newt, closing his eyes. Newt felt a pull, a blanket of energy curl around them. Hermann smiled and opened his eyes again, plucking whatever it was he was looking for. “Marshall is the best word I can find.”

“Marshall? You were in the military?”

Hermann squinted, nodding slowly, shaking his head after that, and finally shrugged.

“We’re protectors, Newt. Fighting back against the Kaiju.”

“Kaiju,” Newt repeated. He was sure he hadn’t heard that term before. He wondered if they could slip into the library or if they should go to the university where he might have better luck. Would Hermann like that? Would he be capable of making the journey? Newt looked up and blushed before thinking, not entirely sure why.

“—st monsters,” Hermann was saying and Newt blinked as he realized he had not been keeping up. “Relentless. They would tower over your mountains, your buildings. They would crush you.”

“Mountains?” Newt asked around a gasp, recalling the illuminated creature he saw in the clouds. “That was a Kaiju?”

“What was?”

Newt was almost vibrating, bouncing on his toes. He tugged on Hermann’s hand, pulling him before he caught himself and looked around.

“Newt?”

“Right, sorry.”

Hermann brought Newt’s hand up and held it closer to his chest. He looked very close to leaning down to kiss Newt’s knuckles and Newt felt something pull the air right out of his lungs.

“It is okay to ask. I am sorry I don’t answer.” Hermann paused, smiling slightly. It tugged a few beautiful creases against the side of his wide mouth. Newt felt dizzy from the sight of it. A happy, pleasant dizzy compared to the rush from viewing Hermann’s wings.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Hermann asked, and Newt was starting to realize how fantastically bizarre Hermann really was. He wanted to do something special for him. And the thought hit him like a bolt of lightning.

“No. Okay. Okay! Listen, basket, food. Picnic! Oh, shit, that’s it. That’s the day! Yes!” He almost got away from Hermann, except for the tight hold on his hand, and he looked back down at it. Hermann looked a little lost and confused, his head tilted gently to the left. It was endearing. Newt wanted very much to hug him, to kiss Hermann’s knuckles instead, to pour out all his bizarre thoughts and theories, and focused on the stores around them again to keep him grounded to the moment instead. No need to scare the guy off. No way. They were going to have a picnic. And there was a store nearby with linked sausages in the window. “Here. We gotta go in here!”

\---

The forest welcomed them same as it always welcomed Newt. Hermann asked about the coin in the bucket at the edge of the town.

“Pay the toll to come home,” Newt had said, even if that wasn’t half the truth.

He asked about the basket and helped Newt pick out foods to fill it. Namely fruits and vegetables, since those were easiest to carry and eat raw. And cheeses. They delighted picking out cheeses, some that smelled weird, some that tasted weird, just the simple fact that there was a good variety kept them entertained. Newt didn’t bother with the sausage links, since he was a vegetarian for most of his life at this point and Hermann didn’t seem particularly interested in anything Newt dismissed. Did he love Hermann for that? Was he allowed to? He felt a little warm at the thought, a little joyed by it, but he said nothing.

“Okay, okay! And crackers, Herms,” Newt had said and nearly rolled his eyes as they brought them up to the shop keeper, who was quick with the transactions to get them to leave.

Hermann asked about the casual stares people avoided casting in their direction. He asked about the children who giggled and were shushed and pulled away. He asked about the solitude that followed Newt and if he was happy with it.

“I’m happy, Herms,” Newt had said without answering the rest of it. He thoughtlessly pulled up Hermann’s hand, squeezed it, and let it swing beside them as he carried the basket. “I’m happy, man. I am.”

The path was much quieter on the way out, of course, so Newt took the time to talk about everything he knew surrounding them. The encroaching moss circling some of the trees to their right, which had been nearly beaten back completely through the years. The strange yowl somewhere far off that turned out to be a fox, which Newt delighted in describing in gross detail. He excitedly pointed out the trail of the _saptori_ skittering away in the tree line, the infamous spirits of the forest.

“Honestly, Herms? I haven’t seen this much activity around here in _months_ , my man.” Newt stopped them, crouching as low as he could without letting go of Hermann’s hand, and pointed out into the brush. “Did you see that? The little gold scales?”

Hermann smiled gently, leaning over the top of his cane as he tried to peer into the shadowy leaves.

The little squabbling spirit extended a long snout, sniffling in the air. It twitched towards Newt and Hermann, long silky tendrils waving off it’s bulbous head. It stepped a moment out into sunlight and Newt gasped just before it leapt up and disappeared back unto the underbrush.

“Damn!” Newt stood back up and squeezed Hermann’s hand again. “You must be lucky, Herms. They _never_ come out anymore. We gotta go sing to the flowers!”

“We…what?”

Newt snatched up the basket and kept walking without further explanation beyond an excited, “yeah! C’mon!”

\---

There was no need to go so terribly far in undulating terrain of Riesenbrust. Not like he had done that first day he had found Hermann. They climbed up the crest of one hill, slow and careful to accommodate Hermann’s leg, despite the insistence that Newt would just close his eyes and nobody was around and _please_ just show off your wings one more time, it’s not a big deal?

“No, Newt.”

“ _Fine_. But it _would_ be easier.”

“Life isn’t easy. This is just fine.”

“Bleak, my man.”

“Truth, my man,” Hermann answered back and Newt snorted a laugh, tucking in against Hermann’s shoulder.

They found a nice spot to sit nestled in amongst the wild flowers, the little jumpy spirits that mimicked the petals suffocating themselves in the quiet before they recognized Newt and leapt up for him. He raised out his hands after he was certain Hermann was comfortable and laughed before he buried his face down amongst them. They flocked, dusting his face with pollen, and he came up back up with a violent sneeze.

“That’s not quite normal,” Hermann said, looking curiously at the flowers while Newt fetched a handkerchief and blew his nose.

“That’s so normal,” Newt answered and laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, displacing his glasses. “Just nobody else thinks so because they don’t go looking for it.”

“You’re not normal,” Hermann said, coming to some conclusion.

“Yeah, maybe. Screw normal to the post, Herms.” But he looked up from cleaning off his glasses on his shirt, a furtive glance that only yielded a fuzzy face looking back at him. He ducked his head back down again, sure of the fact that the sun was heating his face this time. “Get out the brie. That one’s gonna melt on us if we don’t eat it anyways.”

“Brie.”

Hermann flipped the lid of the basket and rummaged around, pulling out items and holding them up. Newt slid on his glasses just in time to catch Hermann holding a small basket of berries and a wrapped wheel of cheese, which he stared at it with an intense inquisitiveness. Newt ruined the moment of contemplation by reaching forward and taking the basket, setting them out on the patch of grass they’d picked for themselves next to the grove of wildflowers.

“Brie,” Newt repeated, taking the cheese wheel from Hermann next. “What do you normally eat? I mean, before you came here?”

“Food.”

“Illuminating,” Newt said with a sigh. He picked one of the red raspberries out of a smaller weaved container and popped it into his mouth. He grabbed a second one, a black berry, and crushed it into his hand, smearing the juice and pulp against his palm. He held it out to the flowers, which flocked to lick his hand lean. “I’m serious. What’s it like? What did you do? Why are you here? What’s the day to day life of Hermann, up there in the stars? Why were you hurt so badly before you fell? Why did you fall? Why—”

“Newt,” Hermann said, his voice soft and gentle and cutting Newt’s ramble off at the quick.

Newt glanced up. He was absolutely ready to apologize. Of course, he had been talking too quickly and they had had so much time together in the cabin, obviously, but it wasn’t right to just berate him with questions. Newt simply wanted to know _everything_ as fast as he could. A direct feed to his brain would have been marvelous. Which was his absolute top thought as Hermann cupped Newt’s jaw, drew him in, and kissed him.

And spilled memories into Newt like water into a cup, his mind drifting through the impossible haze as Hermann relayed everything he could to him.

And. God.

_God._

….

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, my magical Newt and Hermann can drift through kissing, didn't you know? It's so simple! It's so perfect! That's the power of love, baby! (thank you again for reading and tolerating my mild coffee-induced hysteria)


	5. A Remarkable Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt understands a bit more what Hermann has done during the war against the kaiju and thinks he has an idea of what they can do to understand the creatures better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank Kerry (communionnimrod) for the idea of having Hermann fly with Newt (and NOT looking at his wings, Newt, c'mon. It's not good for you, man!)

Newt was spread out on the beaten patch of grass, breathing so fast, he should have gone for a sprint to test his lungs. Someone’s hands were on his chest, flat and unmoving. His own hands? No. Maybe?

Hermann’s hands. Hermann’s hand-Newt’s hand-hand-hand-chest-breath-lips-sky-stars-eye-sword-stars-lips-kiss-holy shit kiss-he kissed- _my god_ -

“Breathe,” Hermann said softly as he knelt over Newt. Too many images slammed together like cymbals, the loud ringing in his ear accompanied. “You’re alright.”

There were many things that one Dr. Newton Geiszler were and “alright” was so far removed from his personal state, it might as well join up ranks with the soldiers in the sky.

In the.

 _“—and_ you _were supposed to report back to us.” He is angry again. He is weary, as they are all weary, but he holds himself up with marble strength, steel bones, steel eyes. The man, this Marshal, is stacked like bricks and mortar. “You’re not a Ranger. You’re job—”_

_“Don’t limit it to the job, sir.”_

_“You were not posted there.”_

_“Because nobody is.”_

_“Because it is not our priority!”_

_“Then you sacrifice them. You sacrifice them because you do not know them.”_

Hermann’s voice flowed smoothly in the memory, desperate and tired and strained and there’s that sort’ve incredibly horrible pain in his arm, but his words moved about with a lyricism he had been greatly lacking since Newt knew him. Newt didn’t know him at all. He closed his eyes and pushed knuckles into the sockets and laughed because if he didn’t, he thought he was going to start crying.

“Give it a moment,” Hermann said as he rubbed Newt’s chest in a slow, easy circle that was meant to ground him. He tapped Newt’s chest with a familiar pattern that Newt thought Hermann picked up from him. Was there a give and take in that…that….

_—and it’s red, red as in fire, red as in blood, red as in the eye opening up, red turned to black, to lightning, to see, to see, to step in closer. There has to be a way to stop it. There must be some way to reason. Never chanced it. Never reasoned with it. Drift with. It’s red. It’s opening. No reason, close it. Close it, please, close it. Silence. So red. So—_

Newt gasped, choked on nothing, and turned to his side. He could not handle the steady little tap that he had done to himself numerous times to calm down. Not when it was Hermann’s hand. Hermann. The name the Marshal used didn’t translate. It was sounds, yes, but impossible sounds. It was colors. It was beyond him. No wonder Hermann had trouble talking when he first landed, when half his language was feelings and flashes of light.

“I can’t even pronounce your name,” Newt said, his voice muffled by his arm, and he laughed at the ground instead of the sky, because it was too much to look up there and know, at a moment’s notice, it could split open with that red, red eye.

“I rather like the one you’ve chosen,” Hermann said fondly. Newt thought Hermann laughed and it made something warm and safe push into his mind, like it very much might soothe over the ache of knowing.

“Yeah?” Newt pushed himself up, holding the side of his head, or Hermann held the side of his head, or he held Hermann’s hand on his own or. “I’m going to vomit,” he said casually, but did not. He dared to peek at Hermann, who sat still with the barest shimmer of light spread out behind him. Newt decided to close his eyes this time and focus on which limbs were his own and which belong to—

_—has to. They’ve never dared this far. HE has decided to guard this place. Small. Weak. And beautiful and strange and perfect. It doesn’t matter what the others say, HE will act as the barrier to the little planet, the little lonely haven that hasn’t even seen the war yet. But another one is coming out._

_Too soon._

_HE should have predicted this, but the numbers were off._

_So close._

_The eye opens, just beyond the light. They’ve come so close now. They’ve never come this close. Is it foolish to stand at the edge for one planet, when there are other places, better places that deserve their attention? Why? Because of their standing? Strategy aside, standing aside,_ pride _aside, HE is here. HE raises a sword—_ God, a sword? You fought with a _sword?_ Like a goddamn _knight_ in shining armor? Holy sh— _and charges. Maybe HE was only sent away to observe and collect data and do what HE can with that, but they’ve come anyways. They always do. Another shutter of wings, tearing through the starlight to stop it. Just—_

“Oh.” Newt put his head against Hermann’s arm, holding onto him like he was the only thing anchoring him to the ground. “Herms. Buddy.”

“Buddy,” Hermann repeats and Newt knew then that it was a jibe, and he held onto Hermann’s arms tightly, same as Hermann pet down his hair. “You’re a bit ridiculous, Newton.”

“And you’re more insane than I gave you credit for,” Newt answered as he all but collapsed into Hermann’s lap. “Shit. Does this pass? I feel like my head’s—”

“A moment,” Hermann said again.

Newt laid there, eyes closed, with Hermann petting his hair, and if it wasn’t for the hundreds of strange, alien thoughts snapping for his attention, he could enjoy this quiet intimacy. _God_ , it felt good. It felt even better when Hermann, through no prompting than perhaps he was just super kind, leaned over and gently kissed Newton’s forehead. It didn’t flash anything new into his head. He didn’t drift off with more memories. It was just…nice.

“They’re going to come again,” Newt said with a certainty that betrayed him.

“Yes.”

“And you…you were the only thing out there for us to stop them.”

“Yes.”

“So, they’re going to breach and we’re….”

Newt sat up suddenly. He moaned, but he was intent to get going, aware that any second they could look up and see a towering creature block out the sun. He flipped the lid shut on the basket, almost aware the travesty of missing out on a nice little picnic with his…well, he wasn’t sure what Hermann was, but he wanted to enjoy the time he had with him. Newt cursed into his palm, rubbing his forehead as he started to formulate plans.

“Newton,” Hermann said. The simple acknowledgement of his full name made Newt stop, panting, eyes stinging and threatening to spill. Those long fingers closed around Newt’s wrist, tugging him close. “I’ll fight them again. I’ll—”

“That’s not gonna work, Herms.” Newt almost pulled his hand free, but, he had to admit, he was feeling better by having the steady skin contact. “You were working on a predictive model just for when they were going to arrive. You have…soldiers up there who are still trying to figure out how to stop that….” Newt made an exaggerated blinking motion and shook his head, miserable that he could _see_ the red eye through Hermann’s memories. He pushed past it. “You don’t even know what they’re doing.”

“Yes, we do,” Hermann said a bit stubbornly and Newt seriously thought he loved him.

For a second, just a second, Newt saw that spark in Hermann and was so happy that their kiss- _whatever_ had seemed to unstick his tongue and oh, what strange weird arguments could they get into now that they both had words to volley back and forth? But he pushed that aside, same as he tried to push up to his feet and crashed back down to his knees. The world still didn’t know which set of eyes it wanted to be seen through: Newt’s or Hermann’s. He closed them instead and pushed his glasses up to his hair to help blind himself until his brain sorted itself out.

_Red eye._

_Red sky._

_Red—_

“Stop,” Newt whispered and tapped his head with his free hand. He licked his lips and laughed when he felt a broad hand palm the top of his head, smoothing out his rambunctious hair. “You don’t have…thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Newt tentatively looked up again, feeling a little better. He couldn’t see maybe an inch or so past his nose, but the fuzzy outline of Hermann’s face was still a nice focal point. No discernable features, so if he stared at a slightly darker spot that _might_ be Hermann’s lips, it was just because it was something to latch onto. His mind kept ticking away, parsing out the images, the thoughts, the memories, the worries, the fears, the aperture of an alien creature’s gateway, a brute tool of war, a soldier, a—

“Have you ever tried to do your…the…I don’t know.” Newt tapped his own lips and almost looked away, noting the bright pops of color from their flower friends swaying in a sea of hazy purple and yellow and pink beside them. He looked back at Almost-Hermann again. “You ever drifted through the memories of those, uh, kaiju before?”

Hermann’s fuzzy head tilted, stunned by the question.

“No, course not,” Newt said as he found the memories that should answer him. It was hard holding two minds in his head; he had to take them a step at a time. “But you have suspicions about their masters. Yeah, okay. Okay, you compared them to your…you called them Rangers?”

“Newt, it was just a silly—”

“Not a silly thought, Hermann.” Newt dragged his glasses back down to his face and smiled when Hermann came into focus. “Totally not a silly thought. Man, you gotta explore every angle available to you. You don’t know until you follow that suspicion of oh my _god_!”

When Newt gasped, he clutched Hermann’s hand and the angel was alarmed by the outburst, looking over their shoulder. The air shimmered behind him when he must have flexed his wings, quickly withdrawing them again.

“What is it?”

“We need to go to the university.”

“We…what?”

But Hermann had Newt’s thoughts swimming around in his head too, if there was any justice in the universe and this really _was_ a give and take. And given Hermann’s newly found vocabulary, it had to be. It was enough evidence for Newt to decide he had to see what Newt was thinking, especially because he pulled his hand back.

“No. Newt, no, we can’t—”

“Come on.”

Newt tried to stand up, pushing on his thigh to get traction, when a twinge of phantom pain stabbed through his hip. He punched out a strange wet sound, grabbing his hip. Must’ve sat weird. It took a bit of work, but he got up, rubbing his joint, when he realized it was the same leg Hermann had broken.

“Ugh, no. No,” Newt said stubbornly, rubbing his hip harder. “No, this is going to take _forever_!”

Still, he bent down and grabbed Hermann’s cane and offered his hand to help him up. Hermann took it reluctantly. When he stood, he put his hands firmly on Newt’s shoulders and inadvertently touched their foreheads.

“It’s going to take days to walk there and I don’t know if Margret will let me borrow her horse on short notice. I don’t have a car. I don’t make car money, Hermann. I don’t even know if I _trust_ automobiles with—”

“You’re very intent on this?”

“Very. Look, I need the lab. I think I can build—”

“It seems a bit foolish, walking all that—”

“—so we can attempt to interact with—”

“—when I’ve always just—”

The two stopped talking at once. Hermann realized what he was about to admit and jutted his chin out. “No,” he said firmly, but Newt grabbed Hermann’s elbows. “No, Newt!”

“Oh, buddy, you are so going to ‘Yes, Newt,’ me today.”

“I will not.”

“You will!” Newt beamed at him, then softened, quieted down, and reached up to cup Hermann’s face. “Or we’re walking and we’ll get eaten by wolves.”

“Oh, we surely won’t,” Hermann said, rolling his eyes. But he didn’t pull away. Newt could’ve sworn he leaned into the touch more.

“We surely will. You don’t know.” Newt paused and looked at Hermann’s lips again, if just a moment. “You _do_ know, but you also know what a trip that is and, Hermann, please? We’ll take parameters. I won’t even look at them! But it would be so much faster if we—”

Hermann sighed. His fist tightened on the wrinkled fabric of Newt’s shirt, and he licked his bottom lip quickly, drawing Newt’s attention to it again. Then back up to warm, dark eyes. They weren’t smiling, not even a little. Hermann wasn’t smiling, not even a little, but they were still soft. Still kind. Newt didn’t know Hermann, maybe, but he knew. He _knew_.

“You must promise only to look at me,” Hermann said finally, and Newt almost threw his arms up into the air with a victory shout. “And we’ll have to land on the roof. I just hope nobody sees us.”

“I trust you, Herms,” Newt said, grinning so hard it hurt. Hermann huffed, about to protest, and Newt touched his cheek again. “I _trust_ you.”

“Yes, well, I think you’re a fool for doing so,” Hermann groused, but Newt could already tell he didn’t mean it as harshly as he sounded.

They made quick work of cleaning up the site. Newt did everything, of course, and happily so. He grabbed the fruit from the basket and upended them over the flower spirits, thanking them for their company and wishing them a good day. He bit a piece of cheese and handed some to Hermann, who was dusting off his pants. He sighed, looked up, and simply bit the proffered cheese straight from Newt’s fingers without comment. Newt’s face flared hot red, and he quickly turned around to check the contents of the basket. When he thought he was back under control, he went over to Hermann, who was standing out in the clearing, looking up at the sky.

“Ready?” he asked steadily.

“Yeah. Yes. Absolutely.”

There was an awkward moment where they were not sure how to go about doing this. Newt moved the basket from one hand to the next, trying to wrap an arm around Hermann, then a leg. Hermann grabbed Newton’s shoulder, nearly bumped their heads together as he went to take Newton’s leg. He made a frustrated sound and shook his head.

“No, I’ve got this. Stand over there.”

“What?” Newt asked, his voice squeaking a little.

“Stand over there,” Hermann said again, pointing a few steps ahead of them. “Face the mountains.”

“What? Why? I thought—”

“Please do as I say.”

Newt looked up at him and decided, of course, of course, of course. He had to trust him. He did trust him. He had said so. Newt twisted his mouth in thought and finally walked over where Hermann had pointed out for him and turned to face the mountains. He held the basket in one arm, the other with a fist pressed against his hip. He shook his head.

“Yeah, okay, I’m here,” he finally said, feeling antsy. He couldn’t hear Hermann and was wondering if the angel had just decided to disappear on him, and oh how rude that would be, considering his options were to go back to the cabin where Newt could lay into him how terrible it was having to walk alone or he had returned to the sky to neve come back and likely die by one of those kaiju. Newt started to turn around to ask, “What’re you—!”

Sturdy arms grabbed him, hoisting upwards at the middle of his back and the bend of his knees. The rest of his words were pushed out of him from the momentum as Hermann scooped him up and they angled hard towards the sky. He clung to Hermann, unable to make even a pathetic, high-pitched whine that he felt circling like a fish in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his face in against Hermann’s chest until their elevation tapered out. The afternoon sun splashed on them and the air whipped at their faces, just warm enough that they wouldn’t freeze, even flying so high.

And god.

They were flying.

They were _flying!_

“Holy _shit_ , Herms!” Newt finally yelled out over the howl of wind.

A low, rumbly laugh vibrated all around him with his face pressed against Hermann’s chest. The sound alone made him melt, but he finally peeled himself back enough to see Hermann’s face, radiant in the unfiltered light.

“I’ve got you,” Hermann said, glancing down and shifting his grip around the back of Newtons’ legs. “Don’t look at them, Newton, please.”

Hermann didn’t have to ask twice. He didn’t have to ask once, either, if Newt was honest. Not when he had a view just like this. He reached up as Hermann stared straight ahead and, fine, maybe his head was still all tangled up and maybe they were soaring above the ground and maybe it was insane to think _I love you_ , but Newt didn’t let rationality or reality tether him. He kissed Hermann.

They dipped in the air, just a little, just enough to make him shout into Hermann’s lips, but they were laughing again as they regained height and soared off. No new memories, no strange drifting. Just a kiss.

 


	6. A New Equation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Hermann make it to the University where they can start work on a cradle that will help them hopefully communicate with the kaiju. Of course, nearly everything has to be started over, but Newt has to trust Hermann that they'll get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always agonize that the chapter is too short, but I think this one is finally done enough to send it out. Hope you enjoy!

Of course, to land on the rooftop near the observatory seemed like the best option, but it still carried with it the same trepidations of being seen from the ground as landing on the cobblestone street. If anyone were looking out a window…. Newt could hope they were all focused on their studies as he clung to Hermann’s neck. His stomach was all sorts of twisted by the time they skipped across the roof, clipping a tile and sending it over the edge into the sparse crowd of students below. Hermann betrayed a slight grunt of pain, dropping onto the hot tiles with the grace of a drunk swan.

It didn’t matter. Less about the romantic aspects clobbered to a standstill and more about the fear that Hermann had injured himself further. Newt completely ignored his own annoying scrapes and bumps and quickly returned to Hermann’s side, helping him up to his hands and at least one knee. He was still favoring his leg, as he should.

“Oh, shit,” Newt hissed. “Oh, shit, are you okay?”

“Nn.”

“Did you break your toe?”

Hermann shook his head, but Newt was already man-handling him, drawing him up against his chest.

“I think you broke your toe.”

“I did not.”

“Herms, buddy, screw you with an iron rod. I can feel it.”

And he could, of course. There were few aches and pains that could be hidden from Newt after he put his hands on someone. Their cause might be a mystery and their cure doubly so, but that simple radiating pain was too obvious. Newt hissed again, a sharp note through his front teeth.

“I’ve got some stuff in my office; we’ll get you right as rain.”

“Newton—”

“Don’t you dare.”

Hermann relaxed a little, dropping his head easily on Newt’s shoulder, just enough that a little shiver rippled up Newt’s spine. He breathed out his frustrations. Newt saw it fit to rub Hermann’s back, over the uneven twist of his spine and the damp heat of sweat between his shoulder blades.

“Newt,” he muttered, and was that fondness in there? One could absolutely hope. Newt hoped, rubbing his back more. “Apologies for…for the rough landing. I don’t usually have to—”

“It was awesome,” Newt said quickly. “Don’t apologize to me, man. Sorry we don’t have better, like…mmm…softer places around here.” He rubbed the little hairs starting to curl on the nape of Hermann’s neck. “You wanna head in with me?”

Hermann shrugged, which was just as good an answer as anything.

Of course, visiting the university on a weekend, and on a Sunday at that, did not preclude anyone from wandering its hallways. There were students who lived in the area, nose deep in books or each other’s necks, oddly enough, and Newt snorted when he spotted a feisty pair who were basically tasting each other’s tonsils. Hey, who was he to judge, right? Academics could be quite the stimulant.

It wasn’t.

Hermann leaned heavily against Newt, resting his head on Newt’s shoulder and sighing so softly as they rounded a corner. The unasked question of _are we nearly there_ was pecking away at him and Newt just laughed, rubbing Hermann’s back again.

“Yeah. Yes. We’re almost there, buddy, hold on.”

“Mm?”

“I’m right down here.”

Newt motioned towards a heavy door at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Newt could not help but conjure images of Victorian doctors in stone laboratories with too many electric diodes sparking over monstrous creations. _If. Only._ Truly, they just put him in the last office because his status was not particularly stellar and because he was loud. The heavy door helped soundproof Newt for the other professors.

The office itself was remarkably the same size as his own one-room cabin. It may have well been the last office in that particular hall and, of course, with one of the heaviest doors at the university, but the room itself stretched out. Newt touched the wall on his way in and the room warmed up, a few electrical lights on the ceiling and more candles spread about that burst into tiny flames at his discretion. He walked across the empty space towards a huge cluttered desk and sat Hermann down in his chair, which swiveled and groaned under the foreign weight. Not that Hermann was particularly heavy, but that the chair was old. And tired. And cranky.

Newt worked fast. Much like he did with everything else that caught his attention. He zipped around the room, pulling items off disorderly shelves that rivaled the ones in his home. He cracked open three jars and scooped out a few dried remedies, tossing them onto his equally overstuffed desk. There was a dissection table set over by a canvas-covered apparatus and a chalkboard that caught Hermann’s eye. Newt knelt in front of Hermann, grasping his ankle gently, talking to himself about nothing in particular. The weather. The flight. When was the last time he had kissed someone, and he did not fixate on that point for very long, clearly, but he smiled when he did mention it because the one they shared on their flight over was, to him, perfection. And if it wasn’t perfection for Hermann, he did not want to know it. Not yet. Later. So he could fix it. But not now when it was fresh and wonderful and –

Newt snapped Hermann’s toe back into place.

Hermann jolted back in the chair, holding his fist tightly to his thin lips, biting his mouth shut as Newt quickly poured magic from the remedies scattered on his desk. The foot was soon warm and then nothing. Nothing. Absolutely ordinary and unharmed.

“Sorry about that,” Newt said, rubbing Hermann’s ankle as he stared at his kneecap instead of his face. “But, uh, better?”

Hermann relaxed again. He smoothed his hand down on Newt’s head, brushing away his wild tufts.

“Better,” he repeated back.

“Okay, great!” Newt grinned, still rubbing Hermann’s leg and tipped closer, like he just might kiss his knee, before Newt reached for his desk and grabbed something in a little wooden bowl there, popping them into his mouth as an afterthought. “Now I need to look in your brain?”

Hermann had just relaxed under Newt’s hands, his thumb sweeping over the uneven hairline on Newt’s forehead. He paused, pulled back, a hovering touch that still felt like physical contact but was, at best, an after image with a wanting desire to lean up and headbutt that hand like a cat. And Newt really wanted to, too, as he ground down bitter seeds with his teeth.

“We both know it’s not ready,” Hermann said, clenching his fist in increments.

“Yeah.” Another bite, another extra burst against his tongue as he chewed, feeling a little buzz across his spine. “But.”

“But….”

“But I’ve _seen_ what you work with! You can help me with the excess cerebrospinal fluid if we adjust the cradle to attune for your natural transferal frequency. Listen! Edema shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re thinking too human about this.”

“No. I’m thinking like a goddamn wizard,” Newt shot back, offering some of the seeds with a little shake of his palm.

“What are those?”

“ _Hybridial chacacium_.” He grinned, the little reddish seeds bouncing together in his hands again. Yes, there were twigs and strips of leather on his desk. Yes, he had sewn a few spirits into them and used them to heal Hermann’s leg. But those seeds were simply for him. Better than coffee. They had a kick, a little spice, and would help keep him awake to tinker with his new setup. “They’ll punch you in the head, Herms, but, like, in the best way. Because….”

Hermann’s eyes squinted shut. “No, thank you, Newton.”

“Mm.” Newt frowned, popping in another handful as he stood up. Hermann looked up as he did so and rose to follow him, leaning heavily on the corner of the desk.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Newt. I’m sorry.”

And Newt brightened again, dusting his hand down the front of his shirt. He reached for Hermann, sliding in next to him like it was perfectly natural. “No problem. Now. Come on. Put that galactic brain of yours to use and help me figure out a way to talk to those monsters.”

“I thought. I thought you understood—”

“Yes. Super dangerous. Yeah, you covered that, I just—”

“That doesn’t sound—”

“You’ll be with me, right?”

Hermann gripped the desk again, stalling them on their way to a wall that was just huge blackboards, stretching up nearly to the ceiling. Beautiful, marred and flawed equations scribbled out, diagrams and ghostly images of failed experiments bleeding through. Hermann glanced through a sequence and saw the misplaced decimal, smiling to himself. He stared hard and something was working around behind his eyes before he finally touched Newt’s hand again.

“Of course, Newt,” he finally said. “I’ll be with you.”

“Together, man.”

Hermann smiled, resting his hip against the desk for a moment. “Why were you building this?” he asked, pointing specifically at the speculative drawing of Newt’s cradle. “You wish to commune with the spirits here. You can already see and speak and perform magic.”

“Perform?” Newt squeaked, jutting his chin out. “It’s not…I don’t _perform._ I’m not a—”

“So reason states you should already be able to talk to them.”

“—sideshow carney doing card tricks.” Newt huffed a little, stepping around Hermann to tap the board. “Something’s happening out there. The plants, the animals, the spirits. They’re dying. I can _see_ it, yeah, and I can keep running preliminary tests, but if I can tap into the source and communicate with—”

“Dying?”

Newt paused, pulling his hand back before he smudged any of the equations. “I dunno. Yeah. Yes. Look, somethings infected them and now I’ve seen into your mind and what if it’s these kaiju?”

Hermann studied Newt’s face again, shrewd dark eyes skipping back and forth from one point to another, an eye or his nose or the corner of his mouth or his earlobe. Newt couldn’t read him yet. Not as intimately as before. He felt oddly studied, but wasn’t unnerved by it like he was with his stupid, stuffy colleagues.

“They are monsters,” Hermann finally said, coming to his own conclusions.

“Maybe,” Newt said, wrinkling his nose. He didn’t like that. Monster meant evil and nothing was _truly_ evil. Even viruses and bacteria were just going through the motions that they were programmed to do for the sake of their survival. It was their nature and nature, whether beautiful or destructive, was purely existent. Purely authentic in it’s being. Not good. Not evil. Begging to be understood. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to understand them.”

“They destroy worlds.”

“Okay. But why?”

“I don’t….” Hermann paused and looked past Newt’s shoulder. “I don’t know. To conquer them, absorb all their resources, and move on to the next target. That’s it.”

“Scavengers,” Newt said.

“Scavengers. Yes. Titans. Abhorrent monst—”

“We don’t know until we talk to them,” Newt reminded him, clapping his hands together. He stood up and picked up a piece of chalk, going over towards a tiny bit of the blackboard that had yet to be scribbled on. “Come on. Help me, man.”

Hermann sighed and pushed himself up, limping to Newt’s side. He looked out across the entire board and finally tapped it once with his finger.

“May I fix that?”

“Hmm?”

“Your equation there. May I fix that?”

Newt slipped the chalk into his hand without comment, stepping back as Hermann went over.

“Close your eyes.” Newt spluttered, but a calm, determined look from Hermann made him sigh and he did as asked. There was a little gust of air that swept around the room, buffeting Newt’s shirt. He peeked, only to see Hermann’s arm extended and the black boards blank, save for the crude sketches of the cradle instrument.

“What?!” Newt rushed forward, gripping his hair. “I worked…I worked for, like, seven months on that!”

“Trust me,” Hermann said simply.

“Trust…?”

“Trust me. Please.”

Newt only squawked twice and let Hermann take what appeared to be his most comfortable position at the boards.

\---

It was difficult to tell how long they’d been at it. There were no windows to speak of and since there were few students who came to Newt’s office on a good day, they were left uninterrupted for hours. Or perhaps days. Who could tell? The red seeds kept Newt awake, so he didn’t feel tired, even as his head started to swim a little at the breadth of Hermann’s mathematical skill. Newt was no dunce. He would not be where he was in life if he did not tiptoe his way around the occasional complicated theorem. But Hermann had an ease and a grace to his mind that fascinated Newt. He wanted to kiss him again to see it.

He wanted to kiss him again for other reasons, too.

Whatever time it was, one or both of their stomachs eventually protested being ignored and Newt sat up from his dissection table where he was double checking his notes on the cradle. “We need food,” he stated plainly. Hermann’s—originally Newt’s, but he was not going to argue it was better suited for the strange angel—chalk continued to scratch so delicately on the overcrowded board. Hermann occasionally hummed to himself and licked his thumb to smudge away some scribbled portion, a symbol or two that Newt didn’t recognize, nor would anyone else on Earth. Then he soldiered on, circling here, underlining there, breaking apart a complicated code over there.

“We need food,” Newt said more firmly.

Hermann muttered to himself, his voice low and lyrical and complete and utter nonsense. Newt pouted. He should have been paying attention to the language, honestly. Hermann got to learn Newt’s. Well, next time! That’s all!

“We _need_ —”

“I’ve heard you,” Hermann answered softly, dragging the chalk through the end of his equation and bracketing off a few glyphs from the others. He turned, set the chalk down beside him, and leaned back. He looked so soft and content, a few streaks of chalk down his shallow cheeks. His hair was mussed, odd cowlicks sticking up here and there.

Newt gasped.

He could hardly help himself, actually.

“I think this should do it,” Hermann said, reaching a hand out to Newt to help him walk. They should have brought the cane. Stupid to leave it. But…not. Because Newt got a chance to stand beside him and prop him up.

“Yeah?” Newt looked up at the boards again, smiling to himself as he helped Hermann. “We’ll test it later. Right now? We need—”

“Food,” Hermann said, touching his own stomach just as it rumbled again. “Yes. Please.”

Newt laughed, feeling oddly giddy as they headed out. There were two kitchens on campus and, if they played their cards right, nobody would have locked the storage rooms. Assuming they kept it simple, Newt wouldn’t even start anything on fire. That, or they’d go into town and stop at the Hansen Family Inn for a late meal.

He lead the way, pausing to lock the door to the lab. Hermann touched the door as it closed, as though departing from a dear, dear friend or a sanctuary, and leaned against Newt again as they left. He didn’t even mind being the proverbial crutch. He didn’t mind; who was he kidding? He loved it. He loved it. He loved—

Hermann pecked Newt’s cheek, like an afterthought.

He loved it.


	7. A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Hermann make it into the inn to have a meal together. It's about time, too, they were working away too long. Unfortunately, a strange storm breaks out overhead and ruins their plans for a quiet night in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this since MARCH???? Well! Let's fix that!

They did, in fact, lock the damn kitchen on Sundays. Newt couldn’t remember if this was always true, as most of his days had this terrible tendency to bleed into one another, but he thought it was just rotten luck this time that got them. He was lightly sweating by the time they got off campus and, yes, he enjoyed being close to Hermann as much as physically possible, but the exertion of walking and propping him up was kinda getting to him. Newt wasn’t going to complain. After a while, Hermann’s leg was getting sore and he could feel the ache skip across his nerves whenever he readjusted Hermann, brushing his exposed wrist with his fingers. Newt felt the pain, not as himself, but as an extension of Hermann and it sorta seemed like it sucked. A lot.

“Right up here,” he said and nodded at the familiar ruddy sign. “They’re awesome, okay? Gonna love it. And? It’s Sunday, right, so nobody will be in those nice big chairs in the back.”

They might be pushing it, given the molten-colored sky overhead. It was oddly reminiscent, if Newt wanted to think of it as such, and a streak of lightning cut the clouds with a pregnant pause before the low rumble of thunder. Almost like the first day he found Hermann out in the Riesenbrust.

The rain fell heavy just before they stepped inside.

“Perfect timing, huh?” Newt asked after he rushed them through the door. Hermann winced his eyes shut, his neck craned back so he was facing the ceiling, as though to catch his breath.

Newt idly wondered if Hermann’s hip was acting up because of the changes in barometric pressure coupled with the fact that they had forgotten his cane and Newt probably was too short and a little awkward to be, like, very good support. Good support, but not _very_ good. It was a lot of options, really, boiling down to manageable pain they completely forgot to manage.

He didn’t wonder for very long, obviously, because his attention wouldn’t allow it to stick there, and they shook their respective heads and shoulders, wiping off the first sheet of ran.

The Hansen’s owned a nice little spot they called Max Inn after the family dog. Cute little sloppy creature with a big tongue who loved everyone. Cute little sloppy inn with good food that everyone loved back. The prodigal dog was there when Newt and Hermann came in, lounging on a rug near the fire that looked like it had been started just in time for the rain. It was sputtering and smoking slightly while it caught on. Tables took up a majority of the warm wooden floor with a bar, a kitchen, and stairs to the family’s apartment above them. It was an inn only strictly in the sense it _had_ a room, but it was rarely rented out, so the son took it near every night.

“Oh, you in town then, Geiszler?” said son called out in one of the two comfortable chairs posted by the fire, the very ones Newt was sorta kinda definitely looking forward to melting into for a while. Chuck was slouched low, one foot propped up on the opposite knee, his elbows on the armrests to hold up a copy of _The Deerslayer_ by James Fenimore Cooper.

“Yeah, hey, Chuck,” Newt said, his voice a little wispy and cracked from the walk over. He helped Hermann sit in a chair, then let his hand linger on Hermann’s shoulder. “Hey, Max.”

Max looked up from Chuck’s feet with big, baleful eyes before his mouth parted and he panted with a happy grin. Max struggled up to his feet, betraying some of his age and the unfortunate tendencies of his purebred English Bulldog status, before he lumbered over and sniffed at Hermann’s ankle.

The sky lit up again and the windows rattled with the thunder. It was really coming down out there. Enough that a few patrons looked up towards the window to make sure the building would hold. Newt noticed a few tiny, pale things hiding in the shadows, taking up hardly space or air. Spirits coming in out of the rain for a while. Even the magically invisible sometimes didn’t like the thunder.

Chuck kept reading, which meant he wasn’t about to give up his spot, except Newt caught him looking over the edge of the pages to eye Max and, subsequently, Hermann. It was just a look. Looks were fine. Chuck was notorious for picking fights with, like, sailors and the like. There was no way in hell Hermann was going to be confused for a sailor. Not tonight. No, Hermann in his slightly-too-big-yet-slightly-too-short borrowed clothes and his cowlick heavy hair and his secret beautiful wings and…no. Not a sailor. Just tired. He was currently resting back and closed his eyes after Newt helped him into the other available chair, relaxing for a moment.

“Who’s your friend then?” Chuck asked in an innocent, disinterested voice.

“Yeah, I’m gonna get us food,” Newt answered instead, turned, paused, and pointed. “He’s an associate, sorry. Uh. Hermann, this is Chuck, Chuck this is Hermann. Yadda yadda yadda. Good.”

Newt faltered in his steps again, plugging through the wrong inputs in his brain to get food and make polite conversation just because sometimes people wanted polite conversation and sometimes Chuck was alright and sometimes Chuck was a dick and it didn’t matter except he wasn’t excusing himself from them and they had intruded on his spot and okay, yeah, social etiquette or whatever was making Newt fizzle and pop.

Hermann cracked an eye. His fingers were unintentionally steepled over his chest. At first, he merely glanced down at Max, reaching to pet him or push him away. It was hard to tell his intent when Hermann’s attention drew up to Newt. He looked curious. Or, no, he looked worried? Well, he tilted his head, that’s what he did, and some of his fingers splayed out towards Newt’s general direction.

“Food, yeah,” Newt answered that worried/curious/intent look, and turned around, leaving Hermann with dog and man and book.

If he could eavesdrop….

If he could linger….

If he could, he would have heard the following:

 

After Newt hurried away to the bar, Chuck dropped all pretense of reading and creased a dogear in the corner of the page, snapping the book shut. He stayed a boneless frame in the chair, almost the picture of a brooding rogue lit by uneven firelight.

“Hermann, huh?”

This man, this human, did not deserve his attention. It was not that Hermann was above any of them, not in any viable form of status. Perhaps in stature for some. Perhaps when he was flying, yes, absolutely. Perhaps with that secret knowledge of what threatened them just beyond their salient horizons, their clouds, their stars. But humans and angels were just…beings. And each could be as unique as they wanted. Each could be as beautiful and poignant and boring and malignant as they wanted. And Chuck was unique in that he made Newt uneasy and therefore, transitive properties and all, he made Hermann uneasy.

Unwelcomed, more accurately.

Unfriendly, more accurately still.

“Hermann and Newt,” Chuck continued, apparently unperturbed by Hermann’s silence or the little frown of his unnaturally wide lips. “He said an associate, right? How closely are you two ‘associated’ then?”

There was an unnatural bow in the air, a pressure that wasn’t perceived by Chuck. The dog whined and finally went over and licked his master’s waiting hand. No intention to harm the animal, of course, but it was reflexive as Hermann’s invisible wings unfurled around him, flapping once.

“He’s a weird one, in’t he?” Chuck leaned over and kissed the dog’s head, gently shaking his floppy jowls. He was doting. He was kind. He still pissed Hermann off. “Always going on about all the spirits in the hill. Raging like a lunatic, y’know. He’s—”

“Unnecessary,” Hermann said, finding the word he wanted most out of the muddy waters of language he had gleaned from Newton’s—Newt’s—mind.

“What?” Chuck blinked and sat up, finally, putting both boots down onto the floorboard.

“What you are saying. It’s unnecessary,” Hermann reiterated. “Because you already have an opinion, and it is wrong. But you’re trying to get a rise out of me like you do with Newt. He does not act like how he did generally. He did because of you. You are unnecessary.”

“Right, look here—” Chuck started, but was interrupted by the sound of a plate shattering and something heavy following soon after.

 

Of course, Newt couldn’t eavesdrop, so what he had experienced was as such:

 

Hercules was at the bar, idly wiping down a glass that didn’t seem too dirty, but never fully clean either. A task to participate in simply because barkeeps wiped glasses when they weren’t busy and, waiting for everyone to file in during the storm, they weren’t busy. Yet. A few folks here and there, his bastard of a son that he loved very much, and, ah, Dr. Geiszler. Dr. Geiszler was a treat. Generally, that was actually true. Sometimes he was a little more manic than usual and sometimes he was a slag, but, all in all, a pleasantly quirky but decent man. Hercules always had a smile for him, even now.

Newt approached and smiled and, again, tipped an imaginary hat he never wore. He tapped his knuckles on the bar.

“How’s it been, Hercules? Y’know they locked up the kitchen on campus?”

“That so?”

“Right, on a Sunday? So weird. You guys got anything good?”

“Y’know we do,” Hercules answered with a little laugh, almost smug, mostly not. Herc was alright people. Especially because he put up with Newt and sometimes even listened to him rattle on for hours and hours when he was feeling particularly talkative and nobody else bothered listening. In that regards, Newt thought of Hercules as a friend and always thought, after the fact, that he should do better by that. Hercules didn’t even overcharge him for food and drink to make up for it. Very classy of him, as he would not have been the first to do so.

“You still got any of that turkey and brie you had last time?”

“No mustard, I’m afraid,” Hercules answered, already slapping the damp rag up onto his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s okay. We don’t need it. And can I please, please, _please_ have an extra roll? I’m _starving_.”

Hercules chuckled, giving Newt a look that said _oh, I bet,_ and stepped through a swinging door. He wasn’t gone ten seconds before he came back with a little glass dish of butter and a basket of bread.

“Here,” he answered, and handed the food over into eager, ready hands. “Tide yourself over until I get your sandwich done. Your friend want one too?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Newt said, glancing over towards the fire where Chuck and Hermann were supposed to be sitting very quietly and being very polite to each other. He gasped when he saw the familiar beautiful shape cut out of the air, the painful shimmer of starlight filtering through the empty space where Hermann’s wings stretched.

“Newt?”

He didn’t notice his fingers going numb. Nor his hand. The dish slipped away from him before he could even think, before “oh, shit, you’re gonna break Herc’s crockery, don’t be an idiot, Newt, control yourself,” or anything in that similar vein came out of his mouth.

It did break.

Newt’s nose almost followed suit when he collapsed like a wet pile of noodles.

 _God_ , they were pretty wings, though. Shame nobody else could see them.

Shame everyone was rushing over to Newt’s unconscious body that they missed the unnatural blue light that ignited the sky overhead, the lack of thunder. The inhuman scream cutting through the torrential downpour like sheets of metal being ripped apart. No angels posted guard. The rangers were distant, watching, taking cursory note of the poor planet their long-suffering enemy had sent another of their sentient war machines to and adding it to the log, opting for more fertile, more substantial, more personal planets to focus their efforts.

But this one was personal too, to one of their rank. His whole world was passed out on the floor, with a broken butter dish nearby. And he only bothered to look up when someone crashed through the inn’s door, her head soaked through, her hair a black ink dripping into her eyes. She was panting from running, running, running through the city, right until she found the first place with a light.

“The mountain’s coming down!” she shouted, her hand frosty white as it gripped the doorframe.

Everyone looked up when Mako burst in. They gasped together and started together. Well, nearly everyone looked up, of course. Newt, unfortunately, was still knocked out cold by a magical defense steeped deeply in his own biology, strange and magical but entirely his. And Hermann, unfortunately, was watching him.

“What the hell’re you going on about?” Hercules asked, beckoning her indoors. She shook her head, still attempting to catch her breath.

“The mountain. Something. Something’s come.”

“What?”

“From the sea,” she answered, shook her head again, and pointed up. “No. From the sky. I don’t…it’s too big. It’s going to take down the Wall.”

The ring of mountains that put the little village Newt called home and the city of Belmont with the university in a nice protected valley apart from the sea. The Wall of Life, as they said, was apparently coming down.

“Are you saying like one of those sea serpent deals?” Chuck asked, laughing humorlessly as he stood up. “Mako, c’mon. Don’t fall for that shit. You’re s’posed to be one of the smart ones.”

“I know what I saw! We have to do something!”

The air behind her went white and blue again, almost-lightning, by the looks of it. Hermann finally blinked at the flash of his silhouette over the floor and looked up. He stood quickly, grunting when his hip sang anger and pain through his nerves. No time to limp. He went straight to a window and peered out, waiting for it again. Please.

Please.

Please don’t.

The sky crackled with the familiar light of the Breach, the light that came when their enemy descended. Hermann’s stomach curdled, and he gripped the windowsill until the wood splintered beneath his fingertips. The divots in the wood were reminders of his presence, that he was there, that he was substantial and real. A little present for Newt when he woke, before Hermann limped heavily out of the inn.

“Wait, sir? It’s pouring out t—” Hercules shouted after him. His words ended up a strange garbled nonsense sound, accented by a gasp from Chuck and silence from their friend Mako, when Hermann suddenly pushed off from the ground, flying straight up.


	8. A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It appears the Kaiju have found Earth and Hermann has flown off the stop them. Newt's awake and that will just Not Work For Him.

“Did he just…?” Chuck’s words died too, like his father’s.

“’zzn’t s’pos’d to…. ‘m s’rrry.”

The small crowd barely heard him when he groaned, reaching up to touch the throbbing pinpoint in his head.

“If there’s really monsters in the sky,” said Chuck, visibly upset by the strange transaction he’d just witnessed, “what’s one man flying, right? Or have I just lost my marbles completely?”

“If he’s on our side,” Mako said as she glanced back, spotting Newt struggling to get back up to his feet. It wasn’t strictly kind of them that they had left him alone, too shocked to see _someone fly_ and to do so _very quickly._ Newt was left to grapple with a table and nearly flipped it on himself, prompting her to rush over and grab him under his arms. “I’ll help,” she said softly when he began to protest.

“D-did you? Did you see?” He blinked slowly, unevenly behind his askew lenses.

“Yes,” she answered.

Neither of them knew the other was talking about something completely different, but found comfort in each other just then, when they needed it.

Newt replaced his glasses and dropped his head briefly to Mako’s arm. It was a relief to the pressure in his head before he sat up fully, looking around.

“Where’s Hermann?”

Everyone’s tongues appeared to be stuck to the roof of their mouth. Not a simple curse from a travelling witch or anything so malicious. They just couldn’t explain what they had seen.

“He left,” Chuck offered at last, earning himself a swat to his arm by his father. “ _What_? He did?”

“Whuh….” Newt’s voice cracked, and he cleared it quickly, afraid nothing better was going to come up than a gasp. Then, “Why?”

To answer, perhaps to answer Newt and perhaps to answer the silence of an unsuspecting world, the sky screamed with the painful roar of the Beyond. It was the unholy groan of metal wrenched apart. Or of an alien monster. Of impossibly large lungs. They each pressed tight to the windows again to see the hazy outline through the clouds, just now stepping up to the dark sea some twenty miles away from them.

There were many benefits to the University in Belmont. The professors. The academia and the prestige of a degree. The shoreline close enough to be a temptation without having to traverse Riesenbrust to get to it. The jagged mountain range that Newt’s little village called the Wall of Life was behind them, protecting others. It didn’t circle around Belmont. They were starkly vulnerable to that shadowy monster in the clouds.

And the strange faint white streak of light heading towards it like an arrow let loose.

Even from down there, Newt’s nose tingled with the sight. He didn’t pinch it, didn’t touch it. His fingertips ran over the indents left in the windowsill and he looked down at them. No, he stared at them. He wasted many precious seconds staring, in fact.

 _Hermann was here_. Obviously. Obviously, but _Hermann was_ here. _And now he’s_ there. _And they were just done with—_

Newt shoved away from the window, heading towards the door. He got three protests of varying urgency.

“Get everyone away from the harbor,” he answered and threw open the door, racing into the pouring rain, leaving Mako and the Hansons to stare after his shadow. They exchanged looks. Mako was already adjusting her collar before Hercules could grab his coat, his son offering reasons as to why this was all _absolutely_ _mad_. Not that he was staying behind. Not like he was going to miss _this_.

\---

“Secure that line before you jump to the next, c’mon!”

Yancy smacked the back of Raleigh’s head hard enough to make him see little colorful lights at his periphery. Or maybe that was from the bump he had when the ship rocked up high enough to tip them backwards and slammed back down next to the dock. Half the sailors had already abandoned them, running for the shore, screaming their heads off. They didn’t have the biggest boat, nor the fastest, the old sails and rigging near ancient compared to some of their neighbors. But if they were going to continue to make a living after whatever the _Hell_ was happening out on the open water, they were going to tie everything down and make sure there was a boat to come back to.

“This is _stupid_!” Raleigh shouted back. “There’s a goddamn gale coming in!”

The two looked at each other for the briefest of moments before they broke into a fitful of laughter. It was only cut off when the ship tipped again. A few crates looked like they were going to take a dip and Raleigh lunged for them, hugging them with arm and torso.

It wasn’t much longer that their wares and lines and the rigging were as secure as they could make it. General rule was if they just waited it out, the storm would pass overhead and they could rush back out to get some fishing done before anybody else got the same idea.

Another wall of water crashed over them, tubbing their boat. Raleigh gaped and spit. He swept his hair out of his eyes, his smile spoiled by the empty spot across from him.

“Yance?” Raleigh whipped his head around, leaning hard over the railing as the murky black water sucked away. Never a good sign. “Yance?” he tried again in the same volume, then took a deep breath and bellowed out, “ _Yancy_!”

A small speck of pale white skipped across the water, mirrored by a strange light overhead. Raleigh followed it dumbly, his heart hammering with panic over where his brother had disappeared to. He strained to hear his cry for help, for anything, and then lost his legs just as the clouds went a strange electric blue he never dreamed possible.

The silhouette of the beast was larger than the mountains, threatening to pierce heaven with a spiky crown. The Devil himself couldn’t be so big. Raleigh slammed onto his back as the boat rocked again, a final shove before the whole thing flipped and sent him into the brine after Yancy.

Raleigh’s brain was already screaming at him _swim! Bubbles! Surface!_ He strained to see as the ocean bed had been churned up something fierce with this disturbance. He half-expected a skeleton’s hand to grab his ankle and take him down. Maybe he should let it, if Yancy was lost in all this mucky silt. But his lungs burned, and his eyes stung, and he pushed out a half-formed scream that showed him bubbles racing downwards. Raleigh flipped himself quickly, chasing after them, for the surface and the shore. Maybe Yancy was there. Maybe anybody was there. He was going to be there, that was for damn certain.

\---

_Urgent transmission._

_Requesting immediate assistance for section Zed-2121 Blue Planet. Category III initial breach. First Encounter. First encounter, repeat, I need immediate Ranger assistance._

_Can you hear me?_

_Can you hear me?_

_A Category III—reptilian base, claws, snout, seven-point crown of horns on this one. No defense possible from local populace._

_I’ll defend as long as I can. They deserve our help and our protection. I wish you would have seen that. It was not defensible, nor advisable, but they’re still people. Wonderful people._

_…_

_I’m receiving some feedback from the local atmosphere. Not even certain this will connect to the celestial systems. Couldn’t say if the stars are aligned. Almost certain you’re ignoring me, so. If by some strange miracle you get this, I won’t apologize for my decisions. It’s been too long since I’ve checked in anyhow. I wouldn’t be surprised if you think me dead. Fine._

_May your own little blue planet be kept safe from this senseless…._

_…_

_Look, you’re pathetic! And selfish is what._

_…_

_I am sorry, Newt. If you figure it out, well, I’m very proud of you. Maybe you’ll get this. Point your eyes upwards, dear boy, when the clouds are clear. You’ll know._

_…_

_Anyways, you’re a bunch of bastards and I’m going to die because you wouldn’t take any pity._

_More’s the pity._

_Scout_

_No._

_Hermann, signing off._

\---

Newt smacked his shoulder into the heavy stone wall as he raced down the hallway to his office—last one at the end, heavy door, that old thing. He barely could comprehend the distant thunder that seemed to be rolling through the soil, each one staggered enough to perhaps be a giant goddamn beast taking tenuous steps towards land. No time. He launched himself over to the table and began haphazardly spooling wires together, clumping the blocky apparatus into a heap.

Little ghostly creatures stuck spindly legs out of walls, around corners, knotted hands and knuckles gripping the table to see what the weird witch was up to. Newt barely saw them until he almost tripped on a toadstool-like spirit sitting heavy just behind him. Newt took an exaggerated step over them, hopping on the toes of his well-worn boots.

“Guys,” he said, almost laughing, a manic bubbling sound squelching out of him. He didn’t have time to greet them, appease them, make sure the various little plates of offerings were all topped up. “Guys, this is. Batshit.” He ducked as a syrupy little monster swooped close to his head. “Hey! Watch it!”

That was Reggie, as Newt had named him. Didn’t come out that often, usually during finals when Newt was also ready to tear out his hair because….

They were there because he was stressed.

They were there because he needed them.

Newt breathed heavily, in part because of the run, because of hefting almost fifty pounds up into a slightly damp tarpaulin, because he was terrified, because he missed Hermann’s departure and he didn’t know if Hermann was coming back.

He was coming back.

Newt was going to be making _damn_ certain of that.

“Guys,” Newt said softer, his eyes going fuzzy at the corner with tears. “Okay, shit. Usually I’d go into the hills, but we don’t have time to get there. So. We’re gonna just have to go to the roof and I need you guys to help me get his attention, okay?”

The various spirits bobbed and nodded and blinked and snapped big zipper mouths or little button mouths or no mouths at all. Newt smudged his shoulder against his cheek and nodded.

“Right. We can do this.”

Not that he was a praying man, but angels were up in the sky, so Newt decided he could afford it this one time. To Hermann. For Hermann. Newt rushed out of his lab with the same urgency that brought him in, short stocky legs propelling him. He’d race to the roof. To Hermann. For Hermann.

\---

The rain was pelting down hard enough to make the strongest of them bend their backs to the earth. It didn’t help that those tremors kept happening. Down by the docks, they were abandoning everything, running whenever the soil was stable enough for them to do so. Strangers grabbed onto strangers, making instant connections in the face of this horrible and giant _thing_. The monster was getting closer, closer, closer, until lightning, like the hand of God, stabbed out of the molten sky and snapped against its head. It was a fly attacking an elephant, certainly, but a very persistent fly. The creature shut a few glowing blue eyes, listed away from the bright white streak, and paused a moment. It only righted itself so it could angle its neck back and scream that awful monstrous cry that could be heard leagues away, perhaps clapping all the way around the world. Some people fainted. They were hoisted up by others. And they ran. And they climbed stairs. And they ran.

Newt went out onto the observatory deck with a string of spirits following in tow, an invisible parade for anyone who happened to come out in the University’s hallways and shouted ‘ _Professor? What’s going on?_ ’ only to be met with an equally shaky and hasty ‘ _go back to your rooms! Back inside!’_

“Okay. Okay okay okay. Hey, do we have a - aaand yes, we do,” Newt said, crashing to his knees as he took a mallet from the stash and started work to stab big metal spikes into the old stone beneath him. He hammered away, ensuring four main points of contact, gently nudging a little bulgy-eyed spirit off the complicated machinery there to his left.

Newt couldn’t look up yet, or else he’d lose focus and simply stare at Hermann’s attacks until the white light crashed to the sea and was lost forever. No, he had to do this. He was going to do this.

He muttered the new calculations to himself and began twisting dials as fast as he could. The rain stained his glasses, so he eventually shoved them up to his forehead and put his nose as close to the readouts as possible, squinting at the fuzzy numbers. When he stood, it looked like a metal octopus nearly as tall as himself with a spiky bulbous head and too many wires dangling down the four main pillars that kept it up. Maybe less octopus, more jellyfish. Either way, preposterous. The cradle helmet was waiting on a hook while Newt finished up his preparations. Seven more switches went on in their preferred order and the machine began to churn and hum.

A low blue pulse vibrated out from the central machine. It made Newt’s tongue all tingly and some of the spirits gasped, their shock a gentle breeze or a birdsong sound. A few of them scattered, but most were assured enough to stay. Many of them clung like children to Newt’s ankles.

“That’s new,” Newt said, scraping his tongue across his teeth. He shook his head and reached for the cradle, feeling it pulse against his hands. “Okay. If this doesn’t work…I’m sorry. You’ve all been really great to get to know,” he said to the spirits. “One might even say ‘awesome.’ Me. I’m saying ‘awesome.’ And you too, Hermann. I’d say I told you so, but….” Newt finally looked up.

The creature raised its arm to defend as that now familiar spark raced straight for its head. Newt felt his legs to weak as he watched Hermann fly with near mad suicidal determination towards it. It wasn’t the wings that were making his head buzz unpleasantly, it was the fear that they were going to lose each other forever. This needed resolve. This needed determination!

Newt scrounged up every ounce of it he had.

“Alright. Everybody ready to get that signal out?” He smiled at the spirits, for the spirits, maybe, and cracked his neck to the left and right. Then he lifted the machine up, letting it hover above his crown, where the connection points were already making his hair stick up. He closed his eyes. “Let’s do this.”

And he dropped it onto his head.

And.

A             n             d             .               .               .                .

A

  A

     A

         N

              N

                  D

                      D

                           d

                                d d d dd ddd

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Oh._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Hello._

 


End file.
